Merry Little Christmas  Part 5  Part of Me series
by Jess Riley
Summary: As the holiday season approached it becomes apparent that Christmas just might not be the happiest time of the year. Can Jim chase away the ghosts of Christmas past before the big day arrives. Part 5 in the Part of Me Series.  Please read warnings
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: **This series covers the subject of child abuse - both physical and sexual. While a lot of it is 'off screen' and depicted as part of the past storyline, there are sections in this series which do describe it more graphically.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

_The pitter-patter of little feet. _ Never in his wildest dreams had Detective Jim Ellison imagined that sound as part of his life. A confirmed bachelor, a loner, that's what he was, and not once had he ever entertained the idea of having children. The concept of being a father had never held any appeal. Sure, kids could be cute, from a distance, but the idea of being lumbered with one of these 'mini' persons was definitely not a desirable one. Over the years, he'd watched friends and colleagues fawn over these noisy, messy, demanding creatures like they were God's gift to the universe. A first word spoken, first steps taken, revered and cherished like some divine happening. Nope, Jim Ellison just couldn't see the attraction.

A small noise from the second-story bedroom focused his attention away from his thoughts. The sound – the pitter-patter of little feet. Little feet which belonged to his very own excessively noisy, exceedingly messy and not so demanding little creature. His world, God's gift to his universe, his son. "No, I just can't see the attraction," he smiled.

With one last stir of the dying embers, he replaced the wrought iron poker on its stand next to the fireplace. Flicking off the light on his way out of the cosy living room, he arrived at the bottom of the staircase just in time to intercept the child who was half asleep on his feet.

"Hey Chief," he said softly, squatting down to Blair's eye level. "What are you doing up? It's way past your bedtime."

"Did Santa come 'gain?" The exhausted little boy, whose sapphire blue eyes were losing their battle to stay open, held his arms out to be picked up.

Jim reached out and lifted his son into his arms. "No, baby; Santa's gone home to Mrs. Claus at the North Pole and right now, I betcha he's tucked up snug and cosy in his bed, just like you should be." He settled his son against his chest and quietly padded up the staircase. By the time he reached the top, Blair was once again in the Land of Nod.

Entering the small bedroom next to his own, Ellison eyed the wolf pup that had taken up residence on his son's pillow. Moving the toys that were scattered all over the floor with his foot, he crossed to the bed, "Hey, Lassie, move it." The pup opened one eye, a brilliant blue eye that bore a striking resemblance to those of the little boy in his arms, but it made no effort to leave the warmth of its sleepy hollow. "Do the words, 'dog pound' mean anything to you, Pluto?" he threatened. A familiar bump on the back of his leg made him groan. "Oh great, here comes the rest of the peanut gallery." The pup disappeared from Blair's pillow, only to make its reappearance next to the jaguar. Jim flipped over the pillow and lay Blair on the bed, tucking the blankets snugly around his shoulders. "Look guys," he said, turning his attention back to the wayward animal spirits, "I appreciate the fact that you're here to protect us, but don't you think you're kinda working outside regulations here? The way I see it, you're only supposed to appear when there's something up, not drop in anytime there's a warm bed or somethin' good on TV." He pointed his finger at the large cat. "And you know that." The dark cat gave him a piercing stare and, with a flick of its tail, turned to leave the room, wolf pup in tow. "At least stay off the furniture," Jim whispered harshly after the retreating figures. "Incacha, can't you put a leash on the pets?" he mumbled.

He didn't receive an answer, but then again, he wasn't expecting one. It appeared to him that those who lingered on the spirit plain suffered severely from selective deafness. Turning his attention back toward the sleeping child, he mumbled, "I swear, those two will be the death of me. Animal hair all over the sofa, fleas in the bed; God knows how many different types of parasites they're carrying around with them." _I wonder if you can buy worming tablets for animal spirits,_ he thought idly. Picking up Big Bird from the floor, he placed it on the pillow next to his son. Bending down, he placed a kiss on Blair's smooth forehead. "Merry Christmas, Chief," he whispered. Leaving the door ajar, he made his way down the hall to check on the other occupant of the house.

Pausing outside Lucas's door, Jim knocked softly. The sound of steady breathing beyond told him that Lucas was fast asleep. A slight rattle of congested lungs still lingered stubbornly, but it was a hell of a lot better than the sound that had come from the kid a couple of weeks earlier. The flu bug had done the rounds with exceptional efficiency. Yearly flu shots had boosted his own immunity and the bug had passed him by without causing so much as a sneeze. The rest of his family had not been so lucky. The bug had struck Jessie first, before spreading to Blair and finally to Lucas.

He entered the room, picking up several items of clothing that lay scattered on the floor and placed them on the chair by the bed. Easing the book that Lucas had been reading from his hand, he placed it on the bedside table, his actions knocking over a framed photograph – a photo of a much younger Lucas and his little brother. He studied the picture, which had obviously been taken in happier times. Two bright, shining faces smiled out at him; Scott's arms wound around Lucas's neck as his brother carried him across the sand. Jim's eyes wandered, with a measure of sadness back to the sleeping teenager.

To the outside world, Lucas was nothing more than a happy-go lucky kid, a typical teenager, and in many ways, he was. But in so many other ways, he wasn't. There was a sadness that filled the boy's heart, a heartbreak caused by years of sodomy, abuse and loss. Jim often wondered if he had done the right thing by taking the teenager in. Had he, by offering Lucas a place in their home, unwittingly put the boy in danger? Maybe if he had walked away that day at the hospital, then Lucas might not have gotten caught up in the uncertainties of dealing with what had become a part of their lives. He took one last look at the photo. "Or maybe, what Incacha said is right. 'Our future is preordained'."

Rescuing the blankets, which had half-fallen on the floor, his eyes lingered on the healed wound which had left a scar on Lucas's lower back. He adjusted the covers over the kid, his hand coming to rest lightly on the teenager's blond hair. "Not so typical after all, I guess," he whispered sadly.

~oOo~

**Three Weeks Earlier**

Blair sat at the breakfast table, Vegemite smeared all over his face. "Yuck," Jim grimaced, wiping off the offending black paste. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff."

Blair beamed up at his father, the black paste still stuck between his teeth. "Megan say it good fo' me. She say I a happy little vegemite and I got rosy cheeks." Like most of the members of Major Crime, Blair had taken a liking to the newest detective to grace the department. Jim, on the other hand, was still undecided. He found the woman to be assuming and a little overbearing and had acted quickly, nipping in the bud any thought that Simon might have had of making the Australian detective his new partner. So far his best friend, and boss, hadn't forced the issue.

"Well, rosy or not, it's still disgusting." Jim lifted Blair from the chair and planted the youngster on the ground. "Why don't you go wake the lump?"

"Lucas not a lump. He a teenageh."

"Exactly, a lump of a teenage_r_." He swatted Blair playfully on the backside. "Now scoot, soldier. You have your orders."

"Aye aye, sir," Blair giggled, running out of the room and heading toward the stairs.

"Wrong department!" Jim bellowed after him while smiling fondly. With consistent attendance at the day care centre, Blair was growing out of his baby-speech. The teachers had told him not to fuss about Blair's missing 'r' sound, but to make a point of stressing the pronunciation at opportune moments. Whether Blair had noticed or not, he wasn't certain, but he had no plans to be a pushy parent. He'd decided months ago that Blair was develop and learn under his own terms.

Blair didn't bother knocking when he reached Lucas's door. His father told him he must always knock, but Lucas didn't mind if he didn't. He pushed his way through the door and launched himself onto the bed. "Lucas, Lucas, wake up," he said, shaking the lump that was covered by blankets. "Daddy sayed it time fo' you to get up to go to school." He pulled back the covers, letting the cold air drift over the shirtless teenager.

"Agghh," Lucas moaned, as soon as the cold air hit his skin. "You little brat!" Without warning, he grabbed Blair and wrestled him down on the bed, pulling the covers over both their heads. "You're gonna get it for that, Sport."

In the short time that Lucas had known the three-year-old, Blair had become like a brother to him, and this time he would do whatever it took to make sure Blair was happy and, more importantly, safe. He felt responsible for Blair, and it was a responsibility he didn't take lightly.

Blair squirmed to get out of Lucas's hold. "No, no tickles!" His giggles quickly turned into full-fledged laughter.

"You know the magic word." Lucas's fingers dusted over Blair's stomach.

"Uncle, uncle!" Blair squealed.

"Wise decision, Sport." Lucas pulled back the covers and rolled out of bed. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and turned back to Blair. "You want a ride?"

"Ah-ha." Blair smiled as he climbed onto Lucas back and wound his arms tightly around his neck.

"Hold on tight." Lucas jogged out of his room and bounded down the stairs, his mood lightened by the sound of Blair's giggles. Making his way into the kitchen, he gave Blair a quick raspberry on the cheek, and plopped him down on the kitchen chair.

Jim smiled, but held a small measure of concern about how easily Blair could wrap Lucas around his little finger. He'd broached the subject a couple of times, talking to Lucas about not always letting Blair get his way, but Lucas wasn't listening, so he backed off. He knew the kid still carried around a lot of guilt when it came to Scott, and if spoiling Blair somehow eased the burden, then for the time being, he would let it slide.

"A cooked breakfast?" Lucas turned his attention toward Jim and the tantalizing smell of bacon. "What's the occasion?"

"Does there need to be an occasion for a man to eat bacon?"

Lucas slipped a sweatshirt over his head and pulled it down. "I guess not." Noticing a bowl of cereal in front of Blair, Lucas picked up a slice of bacon. "You want some, Sport?"

Blair shook his head. "Nope, that bad for you' heartewies."

Jim lifted an eyebrow at his son's comment. "Your hearteries?"

"Ah-ha. Jessie told Joel he not 'llowed to eat bacon. It bad for his heartewies. She sayed Joel alweady too fat."

"She did, did she?" Jim took the chair next to Blair, hoping to get some more information out of the three-year-old. Any personal information was always good ribbing material around the bullpen. "What else did she say?" he encouraged.

"Jessie sayed that Joel have to eat carrots and lettuce and begatables, and undeh no 'stances is he to eat Wondehbu'geh."

"Man, that's rough," Lucas injected, making short work of his breakfast.

Blair looked over at his father with mischief in his eyes. "Jessie also sayed that he not 'llowed to have doughnuts."

All thoughts of ribbing Joel about his diet suddenly disappeared. Depriving a cop of doughnuts was downright cruel and, right this very minute, Ellison couldn't think of a more heinous crime. "No doughnuts," he breathed. "That's worse than rough."

Lucas swallowed his remaining eggs and drained his juice in one go. "You really are a cop, aren't you?"

Picking up a kitchen towel, Jim flung it at Lucas. "And don't you forget it, bucko," he warned, light-heartedly.

Lucas caught the towel before it reached his head. "You might be a cop, but you throw like a girl."

Jim's glare was only for show. In the short time that Lucas had been living with him, he felt that they were finally really beginning to connect. He felt at ease around the kid and got the feeling that Lucas was starting to feel the same way around him. Lucas no longer pulled away when he touched him or got too close. A slap on the back or an arm around the shoulder no longer exacted the nervous reaction it once had. In fact, on more than one occasion, Lucas had been the initiator, and a comment made in jest often turned into a harmless game of roughhousing.

"You'll keep," Jim said, catching the towel as Lucas threw it back.

"Daddy," piped up Blair. He now had the milk carton and was doing an excellent job of drowning his cornflakes. "Holly's mom is having a baby."

Jim took the milk carton from Blair's hands. "Is she, Chief? I bet Holly's excited."

"Ah-ha. Her mom comed to pick her up yesterday and her tummy is this fat now." The little boy spread his arms open wide.

Jim smiled. "Are you sure she's really that big?"

Blair nodded, taking a spoonful of soggy cornflakes. "Daddy, how did the baby get in her tummy?"

Never one to miss an opportunity, Lucas grinned wickedly. "Yeah Jim, how did the baby get in her stomach?"

Doing his best to ignore Lucas, Jim searched for the right answer. _I know the answer to this one. It was in that book_. His mind clicked over, trying to remember where he'd left it. Being a father was still relatively new to him and, when Blair had first arrived, he had panicked. He didn't know the first thing about raising kids; what to do and say, and more importantly, what not to do and say. Deciding he was in desperate need of help, he had raced out to the bookstore and bought the most informative book on parenting he could find. He'd started to put his newfound knowledge into practice, until one day Jessie pulled him aside. She told him to forget about what was in the book. "Trust your instincts, Jim. You're a great dad. Just go with the flow," she'd advised.

"Daddy," Blair said again. "How did the baby get into her tummy?" _Avoidance,_ Jim's mind now screamed. _Go with the avoidance angle until you can work out an answer to give him._ It might not be the right thing to do, but he had no idea how to answer this one. He looked into his son's expectant face and his idea of avoidance flew out the window.

"Well Chief," he started awkwardly, fully aware of Lucas's presence, "when two people love each other and they decide that they would like to have a baby to make their family complete..." Jim paused, looking at the smirk on Lucas's face. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

"Nah, got plenty of time." Lucas placed his elbows on the table. "Besides, this is way too good to miss."

"Daddy, did you and mama love each otheh?" Blair asked, squashing his cornflakes down with his spoon.

Instantly the mood at the table changed and Lucas was the first to react to Blair's question. Without hesitation, he plucked Blair off the kitchen chair. "Man, look at the time. Come on, Sport. We need to get dressed." He flung Blair over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "If I'm late for gym today, Coach Vans will have my hide tarred and feathered."

Retreating footsteps and the sound of laughter coming from Blair left Jim alone with the dishes and with his guilt. "No, kiddo, I didn't love your mama. But I do love you," he whispered quietly.

~oOo~

Simon squeezed Blair's hand as they made their way down the hall toward the bullpen. Jim had been in court most of the afternoon and had been held up by the DA. The woman had a unique talent for pissing people off, and Simon had already anticipated what his detective's mood would be like when he returned. To save the officers of Major Crime from the wrath that could be Jim Ellison, he had decided that a secret weapon was needed. He looked down at the secret weapon, smiling as the youngster bounced along, waving to everyone he passed.

"How comed Jessie not picked me up?" Blair asked, trying to keep up with Simon's long stride.

"'Cause she's still feeling a little under the weather, Squirt."

Blair scrunched up his nose. "Huh?"

Simon stopped at the vending machine. "She's still sick – but just a little bit." He ruffled Blair's curls. "You want something to eat?"

"Nope, I not hungry."

Simon bent down, touching Blair's forehead. "You feeling okay?"

"Ah-ha." Blair wound his arms around Simon's neck. "What time is Daddy being here?"

Simon stood, taking Blair up with him. "He should be here in about an hour or so. He was going to pick Lucas up from school first."

Blair seemed satisfied with the answer and content to be in Simon's company as they continued down the hall.

~oOo~

A shriek took the detectives of Major Crime by surprise as Banks entered the bullpen. "No, Joel!" Blair cried out. "You not 'llowed!" He squirmed to get down from Simon's arms, rushing over to Joel's desk.

Joel Taggart blushed, placing the doughnut he held in his hand back down on the desk. "I wasn't going to eat it, Blair," he insisted. "I was just inspecting it... you know, to make sure it was fresh. Henri was just saying how he really felt like a pineapple doughnut, and well, I had to make sure it wasn't stale."

Henri, large as life and twice as brazen, waltzed casually up beside Joel, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Why, thank you, Joel," he said, plucking the deadly sweet from the desk. "That's so very thoughtful of you."

"What about you heartewies, Henri?" Blair asked, crossing his arms, a crease forming on his brow. "Jessie sayed that doughnuts are very bad for you heartewies."

"Kid has a point," Simon injected, removing the pastry from Henri's hand. "I better lock this up in my office for safe keeping. After all, it is my duty to look after my men." He gave Henri a slap on the back. "And that includes their 'hearteries'."

By this time, Blair had forgotten about the doughnut and had clambered up onto Joel's knee. He pulled a book from his backpack. "Look Joel, I got a book all 'bout Santa. Did you know that he brings presents to ev'ybody at Chwistmas? Daddy sayed they only thwee mo' weeks to Chwistmas and we going to go see him tomowwow at the mall. I will ask him if he can make Jessie betteh."

Joel gave Blair a quick squeeze. "Thank you, Blair. I'm sure she'll feel a whole lot better just by hearing that."

"That okay," Blair said as he started flipping through the book, stopping when he came to a picture of Santa in his workshop. "What that?" he asked, pointing to an object in Santa's hand.

Joel looked closely at the picture. "That's a list."

"Why do Santa have a list?"

"Well, because he has a list of all the children he's going to bring presents to. You see, Santa only brings presents to good little boys and girls."

"Oh," Blair said, looking a little bewildered and a little unsure.

Joel pulled Blair further back onto his lap. "I bet if we could see that list, your name would be right on the top."

A brilliant smile graced the three-year-old's face. "Do you really think I on the list?"

"I'd bet my bottom dollar," Joel said sincerely.

Smiling, and knowing that Blair was in good hands, Simon took the confiscated pastry into his office. "Jamaican would go perfect with this," he muttered in satisfaction.

~oOo~

Blair quietly pushed open the door to Simon's office and wandered casually across the room. Banks put down his pen, giving Blair his full attention. "Hey, Squirt, you got a new book?" he asked. Jim Ellison's son held a special place in his heart; giving his time to the youngster was more of pleasure than a chore. Blair seemed to have a unique ability to captivate all those around him, and it wasn't hard to get caught up in his spell. Whether it was his big blue eyes that – despite the horror they had witnessed – always seemed to shine with trust and love, or whether it was the enormous heart and caring nature of the child, Simon wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was a nice feeling when Blair held his hand or clambered onto his knee for a hug. It made him feel special and proud that Blair trusted him enough to consider him a member of his family.

Blair put the book down on Simon's desk. "Ah-ha. It not my mine, but I borrowed it from the lib'awy. I has my very own lib'awy card, now." The little boy moved closer to Simon, draping himself over the Captain's legs.

Simon tugged playfully on one of Blair's curls. "You want me to read it to you?"

"Nope. I already readed it to Joel." Blair turned his head and looked up at Simon, his eyes full of expectation. "Uncle Simon, where Mama?"

Simon was taken aback by the little boy's question. He wanted to answer Blair honestly, but it really wasn't his place to tell Blair about his mother. This was a question that only Jim had the right to answer. "Kiddo," he said with a measure of reserve, "I really think you should ask your dad that question."

"I can't," Blair replied quietly.

"Why not?" Simon asked, a little surprised by Blair's answer.

"'Cause I not think he like to talk about mama. I think that when I went with mama it made him sad, and I not like my daddy to be sad."

Blair pulled a piece of paper from the back of the book and unfolded it, showing it to Simon. It was a drawing of his family – a colourful picture that showed Naomi standing next to Jim, holding his hand. "I want to give this to mama for Chwistmas, but Lucas sayed that mama was sick. Is she in the hostable, Uncle Simon?"

Placing his hands under Blair's armpits, Simon pulled the child onto his lap. He couldn't help but wrap his arms tightly around Blair as he unconsciously started to rock. "Yes Squirt, she is in the hospital and she's getting the care she needs."

Blair mumbled into Simon's shirt, "Will you take me to see her?"

"Blair, buddy, I can't. I'm sorry, but it's not my place." He pushed the child back so he could see his face. "Why don't you talk to your dad about this? Or maybe I could talk to him for you, if you're worried."

Blair let go of the picture, watching as it fluttered to the ground. Simon's heart sank with sadness. He felt like he'd just betrayed Blair. The child had come to him for help, and he had let him down.

A noise from the outer office made Blair turn his head toward the door. "Daddy and Lucas," he said.

Simon cupped Blair's cheek. "Kiddo, can I talk to dad for you? Or maybe we could do it together."

Blair simply shook his head and moved to get off Simon's knee. "I go and see my daddy."

As Blair left the room, he left the drawing of his family on the floor.

~oOo~

Lucas followed Jim down the hallway to the first floor elevators, amused by the way people shifted out of the detective's way. He'd known the instant he hopped in the truck that Jim was not in a good mood, so he'd remained silent, simply observing. They arrived at the elevator and not a single person was game enough to share it with them. "Boy, you really do have these guys bluffed, don't you?" Lucas remarked as the doors slid shut.

"And you're not, I suppose?" Jim replied, hardly giving Lucas a glance.

"You don't scare me, Jim," Lucas answered very casually. And it was true; Jim didn't scare him. He wasn't being blasé nor was he trying to play the tough guy. He knew exactly what he was capable of, and going up against Jim Ellison was not one of them. He'd probably last a few rounds, but ultimately, he'd get the shit kicked out of him. But still, Jim didn't scare him. There was something about the detective, something he felt he could trust.

Jim moved closer to Lucas, observing both the expression on his face and the look in his eyes. _Fuck me dead,_ he thought, _I think this kid does actually trust me!_ He took hold of Lucas's tie, adjusting it tightly around the kid's neck. The downside of going to a private school, in Lucas's opinion, was the uniform, and somehow the kid never seemed able to wear it correctly. Jim moved his hand from Lucas's tie to his cheek, giving it a hard pat, then smiled. "You're right, I'm full of shit."

Lucas burst out laughing. "Don't I know it!"

The elevator dinged at the seventh floor and Jim grabbed Lucas roughly around the neck, dragging him through the doors. "Watch yourself, kid. You don't want to go messing with the master."

Lucas pulled out of the headlock. "Could take you on any day, old man." He playfully punched Jim on the arm, quickly scooting around the corner before Jim could retaliate. "Not just old, but slow as well," he laughed.

In less than the space of five minutes, Lucas Wilder had managed to tame the mighty Jim Ellison temper.

~oOo~

"Hey, Munchkin!" Jim said, swinging Blair into his arms and giving him a kiss. "You been good?"

"Ah-ha. I readed Joel a book and I maked sure he and Henri didn't eat any doughnuts."

"You did, did you?"

"Yeah, he did," replied a sullen Henri, who was now munching dejectedly on one of Joel's carrots. "Not normal if you ask me. A cop's son, and he doesn't like doughnuts." Henri then spotted Lucas, wandering through the door, unwrapping a candy bar. "Hey, Blair, how come Lucas is allowed to eat that?"

"'Cause Lucas not fat and he has good heartewies," Blair said, nodding his head.

The office burst into laughter. "Out of the mouths of babes," Rafe joked, giving his partner a pat on the stomach. "You know H, I reckon the kid might have a point."

Henri pushed Rafe's hand away, muttering a quiet obscenity before biting down on the carrot stick.

"Jim, can I see you for a second?" Simon interrupted.

"Sure, Sir, what's up?"

"In my office."

Jim raised his eyebrows, putting Blair down on the floor. Before he even had to ask Lucas to keep an eye on Blair, Lucas was by Blair's side. Not exactly sure why, but even in a room full of cops, Jim felt the most comfortable when Lucas was there to look after Blair. It was almost like it was Lucas's place to do so. He shrugged off the idea as quickly as it came and ruffled his son's curls. "I won't be long."

Ellison closed the office door behind him. "Simon, if this is about picking up Blair, I'm really sorry if it inconvenienced you."

"Jim, this is not about picking Blair up. I love the kid, you know that, but it is about Blair."

"About Blair, how?"

"He gave this to me." Simon handed over the drawing Blair had shown him. "He asked if I would take him to see Naomi."

"You're kidding?" Jim looked at Blair's drawing. "I don't quite know what to say. He hasn't said a word to me about his mother. He hasn't even asked where she is."

"Apparently he's worried about your reaction."

"My reaction?"

"Yeah, the kid's worried he'll make you upset if he talks about her."

"Simon, I've tried to tell him he can talk to me about anything, but I guess it hasn't sunk in." Jim took a seat and let out a long sigh. "So what am I supposed to do? I can't let that woman near him, not after what she's put him through. The day she let that bastard touch him is the day she gave up all parental rights to him and I won't do it, Simon. For Blair's sake and my own, I won't ever let her near him again."

"How are you going to explain that to Blair?"

"I don't know. I'll just tell him that his mother is too sick to have visitors."

"How about you tell him the truth about how you feel?"

"Simon, he's three years old. He's not going to understand how I feel."

"Jim, he already does. Why do you think he came to me and not you? Just talk to him. He's a smart kid; long as you're honest with him, he'll understand."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." Simon pushed himself to his feet. "You guys got anything planned for dinner?"

"Just leftovers," Jim said absently. His thoughts still focused on Blair, and Naomi.

"Well, how 'bout we go out for Chinese? I'd offer to pay, but the way the teenage vacuum cleaner out there can suck up food, I think I'd have to mortgage the house to pay the bill." He rounded the desk and tapped Jim on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go grab something to eat."

Jim folded Blair's drawing and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. After everything that Naomi had put Blair through, his son still wanted to see the woman, and he was struggling to understand why.

As if reading Ellison's mind, Simon spoke up. "Jim, I know how you feel, but she's still his mother, and because of that fact he'll probably always love her. It's only natural. He's still a baby and too young to hate her." He squeezed Jim's arm. "I also know how Blair feels about you. A blind man could see how much you mean to that boy. You're his dad and you're his hero."

Jim did know how much Blair loved him, and maybe that was part of the problem. His three-year-old had taken on the role of his emotional protector, and it had to stop. He had to make Blair understand that no matter what the problem, he could come to him.

"Come on; let's go eat." Simon reached for his jacket. "Lucas is raiding the doughnut box and we both know how dangerous that can be in a room full of armed cops."

~oOo~

"Daddy, is that Santa?" Blair whispered, when he spotted the big jolly man in a red suit.

"Sure is, Partner. You want to go say hello?"

"Will you come with me?"

Jim smiled. It had been an awfully long time since he'd paid a visit to Santa, and he had no intention of going it alone. He grabbed Lucas by the jacket, as the teenager tried to steal away. "Lucas and I would love to come and see Santa with you, Munchkin." He smiled, draping his arm around Lucas's shoulder. "Do you have your list little boy?" he asked.

"You're as funny as a week of Mondays, Jim," Lucas grumbled, "but just remember, at the end of the day, I will always be younger and stronger than you, so you really should watch yourself."

"Yeah, right, kid. You just keep telling yourself that and maybe one day, when I'm feeling sorry for you, I might just let you win a round." Only a couple of inches shorter than he was, and still growing, Lucas was by no means a forty-pound weakling. He'd regained most of the weight he'd lost while in the hospital and developed some solid muscles. They'd started working out together, and Jim found he was enjoying the company. On several occasions, the workouts had led to a bit of harmless roughhousing and, although Lucas had never won any of the wrestling matches, he had held his own.

With his arm still slung around Lucas's shoulder, Jim glanced down at Blair as they advanced up the 'Santa line'. Blair had wound his arm around Lucas's leg and was leaning into the touch of Lucas's fingers as they chorded through his chestnut curls. _Guardian_. It was a single word, and only a fleeting thought, but its insight was powerful. Jim looked back at Lucas. _My God, this kid is the guardian of my son._

~oOo~

"And what's your name, young feller?" Santa asked, as Blair approached.

Blair eyed the big man carefully, content to keep his position between his father and Lucas. "You not know?" he asked. "I not on the list?"

Jim felt Blair squeeze his hand. "Of course you're on the list, Blair," Jim said quickly, emphasising his son's name.

"Your dad's right, Blair." Santa recovered quickly. "Now, let me think. Hmm, I do seem to remember that name. Ah yes, Blair. You're on the top of my list, if I'm not mistaken."

Blair flashed a toothy grin and moved closer. "Is Daddy and Lucas on the list?"

Santa winked at the pair. "I can't recall. Have they both been good?"

"Ah-ha. Daddy is always good, and Lucas is most of the time. 'Cept when I sawed him kissing Lauwa. Is kissing girls being good?"

Lucas surged forward in an attempt to interrupt Blair before he spilled all the beans. "Hey Sport, I don't think Santa really wants to hear about that."

"Yes, but Jim does!" Ellison slapped Lucas on the back. "Looks like you and I are in for an interesting conversation when we get home, my boy." He smiled wickedly, now enjoying the awkward situation Blair had landed Lucas in.

"Can't wait," Lucas groaned.

"So, what would you like for Christmas?" asked Santa, who had drawn Blair closer and now had ahold of his hands. He'd been a department store Santa for a good many years, and his instinct told him that Blair was a child who would not feel comfortable sitting on his knee.

"I want Jessie to get betteh, 'cause she gots the flu. And I want Joel to have some new tools fo' his shed. Me and him are building a go-caht." Blair paused for a moment, thinking of what else he wanted Santa to bring. "I want Uncle Simon to get a new fishing rod and Lucas to get some new books and I want Daddy to get ..." Blair rattled off a long list of what he thought all of the members of his family should receive for Christmas, but never once mentioned what he wanted.

"Well, that's a very good list, Blair," Santa acknowledged, "but what would you like?"

Blair thought for a second. "I not know."

"Well, how about you leave it up to me? I bet you I can come up with something extra special for you on Christmas Day."

Blair bounced excitedly. "Wow, thank you, Santa." He stood up on his toes and gave the big man a hug, his earlier anxiety gone. Pulling away, he said. "In my book it says that I gotta leave you milk and cookies." He ran his little hand over the Santa stomach. "I think I will leave you a carrot. They better for your heartewies. Jessie says heartewies have to last you a lifetime."

Santa chuckled, "Jessie sounds like a very wise woman. Thank you, Blair, I'll be looking forward to my special treat on Christmas Eve." He handed Blair a present from his sack, a book that the department store had produced and was handed out to every child that visited Santa. Blair accepted the present with glee in his eyes.

Jim took Blair's hand. "Thanks Santa, it's been interesting."

"Yeah, real interesting. Thanks Santa," Lucas mumbled, making a hasty exit.

"Hey," Jim said, watching Lucas unexpectedly skulk away. "Where're you going?"

Lucas turned around. "I just need to do a few things."

Jim moved closer. "You okay?" he asked. "You know I was only joking back there, right? I wasn't really going to give you the birds and bees talk."

"Well I guess it would be a little late for that." Lucas lowered his voice, aware that Blair was standing next to Jim. "I mean I'm not exactly the blushing virgin."

"Lucas," Jim started. He'd only meant to tease the kid. He hadn't realised it would cause such a reaction.

"Jim," Lucas interrupted. "I just need some time by myself, okay?"

"Sure kid, whatever you need." Ellison looked as his watch. "You want to meet us for lunch at twelve? No pressure, your choice."

Now feeling a little stupid over his outburst, Lucas shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, okay. Twelve sounds good."

"Good. We'll meet you on the first floor at the cafe at the end of the food court."

As Lucas moved off into the crowd, Blair ran after him. He tugged on the teenager's leg, pulling him up. "I sorry, Lucas," he blurted.

"Sorry for what, Sport?" Lucas asked, crouching down so he was eye level with Blair.

"Sorry for telling Santa you secwet. I not know it was a secwet." A look of worry crossed Blair's face. "Do you still love me?"

Lucas pulled Blair into his body and hugged him tightly. He placed a kiss on the top of Blair's hair. "Always," he whispered.

~oOo~

"Daddy, can I go play?" Blair asked, already hopping down from his chair. There was a playground in the food court, and Jim had chosen a table that gave him a good view of the whole area.

"Okay, but you know the rules."

"No talking to strangehs, and yell if I need you."

Jim watched Blair cross the short distance to the play equipment, and it didn't take long before his son had made a friend. He turned his attention toward Lucas, one eye still on Blair. "So, did you get done what you needed to?"

"Most of it." Lucas pushed several shopping bags under the table with his foot. "Hey, look, I'm sorry about before. I guess I was just feeling a little crowded."

"Lucas, anytime you need space, all you need to do is say so. I know it must be hard adjusting to having people around all the time, especially when you're used to being on your own and doing your own thing."

"No, it's not that. I like being around you guys; it's just that sometimes it's hard when you treat me like I'm sixteen or something."

"News flash, kid, you are sixteen."

"In age maybe, but not in experience." Lucas looked over at Blair. "I had sex with Naomi, you know!"

Jim didn't show any reaction towards Lucas's statement. The kid did this to him on occasion. He'd let loose with something from his past, just to see if he'd get a reaction. He was being tested, and he knew it was because Lucas still had reservations about his place in their family. Understandably the kid was still insecure, and Jim had a very distinct feeling that thoughts of being kicked out were never far from the teenager's mind. When Lucas came out with these statements, it was almost as if he were trying to paint an unsavoury picture of himself in order to hurry the process along.

Straight-faced, Ellison responded. "So did I."

They both sat for a few minutes, staring at each other, making no further comment until the silence was finally broken by Blair as he came charging across from the playground and crashed into his father's legs.

Lucas broke first, laughing as he watched the rambunctious child use Jim's leg as a climbing frame. "I guess you did."

Jim scooped up Blair and engulfed him in a hug. "Yep, the best mistake of my life." He blew a sloppy raspberry on Blair's cheek.

Even though Blair squirmed away in disgust, Lucas could see love in Blair's eyes. He felt the pull of sadness, for his own childhood lost and a love he had not known for a very long time.

~oOo~

Ellison was quick to snap a photo as Blair swished his arms and legs back and forth in the snow. "Look Daddy, a snow angel." A fresh layer of snow had just fallen, perfect for some winter fun. "Come on, Daddy, you make one."

"Me?"

"Ah-ha. You snow angel will be really big."

Jim pocketed the camera and got down on his hands and knees. Blair jumped onto him, pushing him over, laughing as they tumbled and tousled in the snow.

"Hey, Munchkin, what do you say we get Lucas out here to join in the fun?" Lucas was inside by the fire, trying to catch up on homework he'd left to the last minute.

Blair picked up on the mischief in his father's eyes. "Why?" he asked.

"Because, my little co-conspirator, we are going to have a snow fight."

Blair bounced. He'd read about snow fights, but he'd never had one before.

Jim winked. "Ready?"

"Ready," Blair chimed.

On the count of three, the plan was put into action. "Lucas, Lucas, come quick!" Behind Jim's back was a loosely-packed snowball. The detective was ready and armed.

Lucas appeared at the back door. "What's up?" he asked. No sooner than he'd spoken, a snowball flew across the yard, hitting him square in the face.

"Who's old and slow now?" Ellison chuckled.

Lucas wiped the slush off his face, flicking it away before stabbing his finger in Jim's direction. "This is war. You realise that, don't you?" He grabbed his jacket from the peg by the door, intent on revenge. All homework was forgotten as a volley of snowballs went flying. Like Blair, he'd never had a snowball fight before, and he intended to make the most of it.

~oOo~

"I fwe...eezing," Blair stuttered, his teeth chattering together.

Jim scooped his son up. Blair's jeans were soaked through and his cheeks glowed red with the cold. "Come on, Munchkin, time for a nice hot shower."

Standing on the bathroom tiles, Blair's fingers fumbled with the top button of his jeans. "That was fun, Daddy. Can we build a snowman tomorrow?"

Jim adjusted the faucets, waiting for the perfect water temperature. "I can't see why not," he answered. Satisfied that the water was warm enough, he finished undressing Blair and ushered him into the shower stall. Getting out of his own sodden clothes, he also hopped under the warm spray. Picking up a bottle of shampoo, his thoughts wandered back to the first time he'd taken a shower with Blair in the room. The child had been cautious and unsure of the situation and it had taken a lot of thought and courage on his part to go through with it. He'd assumed that because Blair had been the victim of sexual abuse, he had to treat him with kid gloves, that nakedness was something to be hidden, to be ashamed of. But Blair's day care teacher had broached the subject with him after Blair had made a passing comment to her, and he'd finally come to the realisation that if Blair were to have any hope of moving forward, he needed to feel totally comfortable in his own environment. Blair needed to feel safe and secure when it came to having a bath or taking a shower. He needed to know that nothing bad was going to happen. A break-through had come one night when Blair had asked if he could take a shower with him. "Yes" was the only answer he could give, because it was the only answer that would prove to his son that he was safe and that it was okay.

Blair's voice snapped Jim back from his thoughts. "Daddy, did we win?"

"'Course we did, Munchkin." Jim bent down and started to work the shampoo into Blair's hair.

"But Lucas say he wonned."

"He's a teenager, Chief, they always think they win." Jim lifted Blair up into his arms. "Eyes shut," he ordered, directing the spray onto Blair's head. Satisfied that all the soap was out of Blair's hair, he placed him back down on the tiles. With Blair splashing happily in the water, he soaped up his own hair, letting the water relax his muscles. Lucas had managed to get in a few good shots and, while he'd never openly admit it to the boy, he did smart in more places than not.

~oOo~

Blair ran from the bathroom, through his father's bedroom and out into the hall, naked as a jaybird. He squealed as Lucas grabbed him and tossed him in the air. Jim emerged from his room, a dry towel in his hand. "Good catch," he grinned.

Lucas deposited Blair into Jim's waiting arms. "You sure this brat's not a runaway from a nudist colony?"

Jim wrapped Blair snugly in the soft towel. "Just a typical three-year-old." The sentence felt good. It felt right and Jim nearly had himself believing in it.

As Lucas continued down the hall and into his room, Jim didn't miss the stiffness in the teenager's step. "A bit sore, are we kiddo?" he asked.

"Never," Lucas replied with all the teenage bravado he could muster. He closed the door and leaned on the oak panel. "Ouch," he moaned, softly.

~oOo~

_TBC_

_Hopefully I'll get more finished and uploaded this evening._


	2. Chapter 2

~oOo~

A squeal from the lounge vibrated painfully through Ellison's skull. "Damn it," he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and alleviate the pressure. He'd had a lingering headache all day; no matter what he tried, or what painkillers he took, he couldn't seem to shake it.

"Bagheera, no!" Blair's voice squealed again. "If you do that 'gain I go get Dad and you will be in big trouble."

As Jim pushed himself away from the table, the chair scraped against the floor, the sound making him wince. "What's all the commotion?" he asked gruffly, making his way into the living room.

"Bagheera is licking he lips." Blair was sitting on Bagheera's back as the cat lounged on the rug. His hands were covering the animal spirit's eyes. "He going to gobble up Santa's reindeeh, Daddy." Blair had changed the channel and was now watching a wildlife program on the migration of reindeer, and so was the cat.

Jim walked over and plucked Blair off Bagheera's back, just as the front door slammed shut. He grimaced as another wave of pain flooded over him.

Lucas bounded into the lounge, dumping his bag on the floor with a thud. "Man, it's cold out there." He positioned himself in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth.

"You're late," Jim barked. "I told you to be home by five."

"Geez Jim, don't have a cow or two. It's only ten past." He studied Ellison's face. "What's up with you? Someone didn't take off with your lunch money again, did they?"

"A smart mouth is the last thing I need," Jim warned, glaring at Lucas. "Where have you been, anyway?"

"I was at Laura's. We were going over some stuff for the test tomorrow."

"I'll bet," Jim answered, his sarcasm matching his mood. Noticing a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned quickly "And what are you looking at?" he barked.

Lucas forgotten, Jim's attention was now focused on the large cat, who was glaring back at him with intense green eyes. "I thought I told you to stay off the rug." He toed the animal spirit, his foot slicing through the vision.

"Maybe I should go out and come in again," Lucas said, trying to figure out the cause of Jim's bad mood.

"Daddy's just grumpy, Lucas," Blair piped up. "You not need to go." Blair was now tickling Bagheera under the chin, the cat purring loudly at the attention.

"I am not grumpy," Jim stated. "And how come you can do that?" he asked, nodding toward Blair. "Every time I try and touch the thing, it disappears." He reached out again with his foot; thin air was the only thing it came in contact with.

"Bagheera not a thing. He a black jaguah from Peru," Blair stated firmly. "And he doesn't like you vewy much, 'cause you always yelling at him." Blair tickled the cat again.

"I don't yell at it," Jim answered. "I'm just trying to teach it house rules. In fact, I shouldn't have to teach it house rules, because it's not even supposed to be in the house."

Blair got to his feet. Reaching up, he slipped his hand into his father's. "Daddy, what's wrong?"

The minute Blair's hand touched his, Jim could feel the tension drain from his body. "I've just got a headache, Chief. Everything's just a little out of whack at the moment." He slumped down on the sofa. "I'm sorry I was grumpy."

Lucas moved to sit down beside Jim. "Is it something to do with your senses?"

"I don't know... I guess so. I can't seem to get them back down to a normal level. It's like someone's flicked a switch and turned them up."

"Well, can't you turn them back down?" Lucas asked.

"I would if I knew how."

Blair let go of his father's hand. "I know what to do," he said, picking up the box of crayons that were on the coffee table.

"Blair, I don't think your dad is in the mood for colouring right now," Lucas said quietly.

"I not silly, Lucas," Blair replied with an indignant scowl. "These not for colouring. I been having a lesson and I know how to help."

Jim and Lucas glanced at each other, unsure of what Blair meant by his statement.

"You have to look at the crayons, Daddy."

"Munchkin, I know you mean well, but what I need is some peace and quiet. Daddy just needs to sit here and relax until his headache is gone."

"I can help," Blair insisted. "I been listening good."

Jim knew that the likelihood of getting any peace was zero until he listened to what his son had to say. "Okay, Chief, you're the boss."

Blair climbed up onto the sofa. He stood on the cushion beside Jim. "First you need to close you' eyes."

Jim sighed, closing his eyes. "Okay, what next?"

The youngster placed his hand on his father's temple and pressed lightly. "Now you have to use you' 'magination. You need to think of all my cwayons, but you gotta think of the black one first."

"Black crayon... okay I see it."

"Now you gotta think of the other colours." Blair listed all the colours in his box, starting with the dark shades first and then going down the palette until he had reached the pale colours.

Jim visualised the colours as Blair said them out loud and with each shade, his pain level decreased. By the time they had reached yellow, his headache was all but gone and he let himself relax into the feeling of Blair's feather-like touches dusting his temple.

Blair scooted to the end of the sofa and arranged two cushions to make a pillow.

He jumped down on to the floor. "You need to lay down, Daddy." He took hold of his father's arm and pulled him down.

"Maybe just for a minute," Jim muttered. He let Blair guide him down onto the cushions, and it wasn't long before he felt himself drifting.

Blair took Lucas by the hand. "We make dinneh?" he asked.

"We can give it a shot, Sport." Lucas replied, quietly. He grabbed the throw-rug from the chair and folded it over Jim.

"We could make chocolate pancakes." Blair bounced, hoping Lucas would agree.

"And we could suffer a fate worse than death when your dad wakes up." Lucas ruffled Blair's hair. "How 'bout spaghetti? I think we could manage that without doing too much damage."

"That a good idea. Daddy love 'sketti..." Blair scooted out of the room with Rahma only a few steps behind, leaving Lucas to switch off the television and turn off the overhead light. "Get some rest, Jim," he whispered. "I'll take care of things tonight."

~oOo~

Jim pushed his way anxiously through the doors to Blair's day care centre. He'd received a phone call from Nicole Dickson twenty minutes earlier; it sounded as if the flu bug had caught up with his son. Acknowledging a staff member with a curt nod, he made his way down the hall toward Blair's room. Nicole looked up from the book she was reading as he entered the room and her assistant moved to take her place. "Don't look so worried," she said, taking in the detective's expression. "I'm fairly certain it's just the flu. One thing I've learned about your son is that he's a tough little guy, and I'm sure he'll be fine."

Tough or not, Ellison still couldn't hide his concern. The sensitivity in his ears increased with a will of its own and Blair's steady heart-beat thrummed an unmistakable tune. He tracked the familiar thud to a corner of the room, finding Blair sound asleep on a mattress, snuggled under a layer of blankets. Congested breathing caught his attention as Blair drew in puffs of air and blew them out noisily through his mouth; his nose was obviously too blocked to aid the process. "I don't understand." Jim moved closer to Blair. "He was fine this morning; how did he come down with it so quickly?"

Nicole zipped up Blair's backpack. "It happens with kids. One minute they're fine, the next minute they're down with a cold or a tummy bug and, well... I'll spare you the gruesome details of the last ailment." She placed the bag on the table. "He feels a little warm, but I haven't given him anything. I suggest a dose of Children's Tylenol might be a good idea when he wakes up."

Jim pulled back the blanket. Nicole was right. Blair did feel a little warm, but it didn't appear to be too serious. He lifted Blair into his arms, patting his back gently when he stirred.

Nicole picked up the blanket and wrapped it around Blair. "It will be easier than struggling to get his coat on," she said.

Jim adjusted Blair's head so it rested comfortably on his shoulder and picked up the backpack. "Thanks. I'll drop it back to you tomorrow."

"No need. It can wait until Blair comes back." She rubbed the child's back lightly. "You get better soon, sweetheart."

~oOo~

Waiting impatiently for the automatic doors to the garage to engage, Ellison turned around to check on Blair, who was strapped securely in his car seat. Two bleary eyes greeted him. "Hey baby," he soothed. "Not feeling so good?"

Blair licked his dry lips. "Where I are?" he asked, a croaky voice making him cough.

"You're home, Chief. Your teacher called to tell me you weren't feeling so hot, so I picked you up." Jim drove into the garage, the door shutting behind him. "In a few minutes, you'll be snug and warm in bed."

It didn't take long for Jim to get Blair out of the car and into the house. Turning up the thermostat, he headed toward the stairs. Blair squirmed in his arms. "I not want to go to bed."

"Chief, you've got the flu. I think a nap would do you the world of good."

"No," Blair whined. He twisted in his father's arm. "I not want to."

"Okay, okay." Jim relented. "How about you rest on the sofa for a while, then?"

Blair nodded, resting his heavy head back on his father's shoulder. "I watch telebision." It wasn't a question. Blair was telling his father what he was going to do.

Jim made a detour into the kitchen. There was a pile of freshly washed laundry still sitting unfolded on the kitchen table and he rummaged through it until he found Blair's favourite pajamas. "Okay, Chief, let's get you comfortable."

With Blair settled on the sofa watching a video, Jim made a tentative call to the office. With no one to look after Blair, there was no way he could return to work this afternoon.

~oOo~

Ellison hung up the phone in frustration. His best friend, who also happened to be his boss, had just put him in an uncomfortable position. He had to choose between the responsibility he had to his family and the responsibility he had to his job, and it was times like this that made him realise just how difficult single parenting could be. He heard a key turn and the squeak of the back door as it creaked on its hinges. Lucas was home.

"Hey Jim." Lucas dumped his bag on the kitchen floor and headed straight for the pantry. "How come you're home so early?"

With his mind still on his conversation with Simon, he muttered. "Blair's sick."

"Sick! Sick how ... what's wrong with him?" Lucas stopped raiding the pantry, his attention now fixed on Jim.

"He's come down with the flu."

"The flu? Are you sure that's all it is? You seem worried."

"I've got to go back to work. There's something pretty major going down and I have to be there. Jessie's still too sick to come over and I can't ask Rachael... not with the baby and all."

Lucas moved to stand in front of Jim. He lifted his arm and gave his armpit a dramatic sniff. "Do I stink or something? Or maybe you think I've got a rare infectious disease. Or, maybe it's because I'm sixteen and you still think I'm not responsible enough to look after Blair."

Jim gave Lucas a harsh a stare. "None of the above, and stop being such a wise ass. I'm not in the mood."

"Well, what's the problem then?"

"The problem is, what happens if he gets worse? What are you gonna do if his temperature skyrockets or he vomits? How are you gonna handle cleaning that up?"

"You're unbelievable," Lucas replied, angrily. "Just how fucking useless do you think I am?"

"Watch your language," Jim warned, not in the mood for one of the kid's outbursts.

"God, Jim! I'm more than capable of looking after a sick kid. It's not the first time I've done it, and it's certainly not the first time I've cleaned up puke. I took care of a drug addict, for Christ sake. If Blair does get sick, then I'll clean it up, and if his temperature gets too high, I'll call the doctor. It's not brain surgery."

Jim immediately felt incredibly naive for questioning Lucas's ability to care for Blair. The kid was right. He was more than capable of looking after a sick child; in fact Lucas was probably more capable than he was. He could clearly picture Lucas as a young boy, cleaning up after his father when the man drank himself into a stupor, or looking after his brother at an age far too young to be burdened with that kind of responsibility.

"You're right. I know you're more than capable," he apologised. "I appreciate and accept the offer and if everything goes according to plan, I should be home around ten."

"So?" Lucas asked, accepting Jim's apology without question. "What's going down? Drug bust or serial killer?"

Jim moved out of the room to get himself organised. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you and that would kinda mess up my babysitting plans," he called over his shoulder.

As Jim disappeared into the lounge, Lucas went back to the pantry. "I know there's some chicken noodle in here somewhere," he muttered. Whenever Scotty got sick, it was the only thing he could seem to keep down and he figured the same would probably go for Blair.

Laying his hand on the can of soup, Lucas tried to push his brother's face from his mind and concentrate solely on the present. He felt guilty for doing so, but sometimes it was easier to forget than remember.

~oOo~

"I want my daddy!" Blair cried. He'd woken up a few hours ago and his temperament was as hot as his temperature.

Unable to console Blair or bring his temperature down, Lucas decided to ere on the side of caution and had put a call into Gillian Francis. She'd responded quickly, confirming that Blair was suffering with influenza and had left him with a list of instructions and the assurance that Blair would be fine. He'd dialled Jim's cell phone several times but, on each try, the connection had gone straight through to voice mail. "It's okay, Sport," he comforted, walking Blair around the room. "Your dad should be home soon." He had stripped Blair down to his undershirt and underpants in the hope of cooling down the child's hot body.

Blair moved restlessly in Lucas's arms. "Daddy ... I want Daddy. I not want you!" he cried, his distress turning to heavy sobs against Lucas's neck. Although desperate for his father, he still had a deathlike grip on the teenager.

Not knowing what else to do, Lucas continued his gentle rocking. His hand moved up and down Blair's back and he spoke softly about nothing in particular, just hoping that his ramblings would take Blair's mind off his father and lull the boy to sleep. He didn't care how long he had to stand with Blair in his arms, he wasn't going to let go. An instinct deep inside told him that he needed to protect this child. It was why he was here and this time he couldn't fail.

Placing his lips against Blair's hot brow, Lucas whispered. "I've got you."

~oOo~

Lucas heard Jim's truck pull up the driveway and he pulled back the curtain, just to confirm. "About friggin' time," he whispered. Blair had fallen into a light sleep in his arms, but he was still fitful. His lips were dry and red and his cheeks were flushed with fever. He adjusted the wet cloth he'd placed on the back of Blair's neck. "Your dad's home now, Squirt."

Jim had an unsettling feeling the minute he stepped into the house. He moved quickly into the living room, and Blair's fever hit him like a blast from a furnace. "Lucas, he's burning up." He reached out, anxiously seeking contact with his son. "Why the hell didn't you call me?" Removing Blair from Lucas's arms, Jim settled Blair against his own chest. "Jesus Christ, we went through all of this before I left him. You were supposed to call me if he got any worse."

"I did call you," Lucas retaliated. "Your cell was off. Didn't you check the messages?"

Jim pulled his cell phone from his jacket. He'd turned it off just before the bust went down, and had neglected to turn it back on. Throwing it down on the chair, he took out his anger at his own stupidity on Lucas. "Well why didn't you leave a message at the station, or why didn't you call the doctor?"

"I did ... to both," Lucas replied hotly. "It's not my fault if the clodhoppers at your office can't take a message." He continued before Jim could get a word in, "And the doctor left about forty minutes ago. She gave Blair some Tylenol and told me to keep him as cool as possible and to make sure he gets enough fluids. Again, I've done both of the above."

A movement from Blair put an end to the argument. He lifted his head from his father's shoulder and, without warning, vomited.

Lucas was first to move. He grabbed a towel, which he had placed over Blair's pillow earlier in the night, but his action came too late. Blair emptied his stomach again all over Jim. "They never do it just once," he said sheepishly, handing over the towel.

Jim snatched at the towel. "Thanks for the warning," he answered sarcastically. The entire front of his sweater and his shoulder was covered in vomit and Blair had fallen forward into the mess.

Blair choked back a cry as he pulled up his legs, and this time Jim moved quickly to place the towel to Blair's mouth.

"I'll go get a bucket."

"I think it's a little too late for that," Jim said, wiping Blair's mouth.

"I guess so." Lucas breathed through his mouth in an effort to bypass the smell that filled the room. "You want me to run the bath?"

Jim looked at the mess that covered both Blair and himself. A bath was definitely in order. "Yeah, and could you grab some clean PJs from his drawer?" As Lucas's feet hit the bottom stair, Jim called out. "Hey, I'm sorry about what I said. You did a great job."

Lucas shrugged off Jim's comment. "It's cool, but thanks anyway."

Blair whimpered in Jim's arms. "Come on, big guy," he said gently. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

~oOo~

Jim placed Blair down on the bathroom floor. The smell of vomit was starting to affect him and he blanched, as the odour caused him to gag.

Blair latched onto the front of his sweater. "Crayons," he whispered, his breath tinged with the same foul smell.

Jim concentrated hard. He was going to be no good to his son if he ended up face down hugging the toilet bowl. He closed his eyes and visualised Blair's crayons. He imagined the box, starting with black and gradually fading to lighter, more subtle colours. One by one he worked his way down the range, his sense of smell following the visual image. When he opened his eyes, a pair of bloodshot eyes were staring back at him. "My tummy hurts."

Fully prepared this time, Jim shifted Blair over to the toilet and held on as Blair vomited again. Finally, when Blair's stomach settled a little, Jim lifted him away from the toilet. "Come on, Chief," he said, encouraging Blair to lift his arms. "Let's get this off of you."

Blair complied with his father's request, and stood still while Jim stripped off his underclothes.

"Bath's ready," Lucas squeaked off the faucet and held a hand out to Blair.

Blair looked over at Lucas, then at his hand. "No bath," he said.

"Munchkin, you need to get cleaned up." Jim wasn't thinking as he stripped off his own sweater and shirt.

"No," Blair stated, stepping back on shaky legs. "No bath ... I say no... I say no."

Lucas moved by rote. His actions were mechanical and seemly well rehearse. He grabbed the towel from the side of the tub and fell to his knees. He cocooned Blair within the soft material, and folded him protectively into his body. His reaction surprised him a little. He wasn't quite sure why it was so severe, but the figure of Blair standing alone, shaking and naked on the bathroom floor, hit him hard. "No bath," he said to Jim.

Jim locked onto both pairs of blue eyes; one pair a brilliant sapphire, the other pair paler, but somehow deeper; a deepness that, if you looked closely enough, took you straight to Lucas's soul. "No bath," Jim whispered. "No bath, Chief."

Blair pushed his arms out of the towel. "Shower."

Jim glanced at Lucas and the teenager nodded, before loosening his grip. _One day, Chief,_ Jim promised himself, _One day I will find out exactly what that bastard did to you._

Leaving Blair leaning against Lucas, Jim kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his jeans and socks. "You ready, baby?" he asked, waiting for Blair to make the first move.

The little boy pushed himself off Lucas's chest and this time the towel that pooled at his feet caused him no distress.

Jim lifted Blair up into his arms. "We'll do this real quick, Munchkin." Blair's body was still hot and he hoped that the cool spray of the shower might help alleviate his fever.

"I yucky," Blair said, wiping at the sticky mess that covered his chest.

"I won't disagree with you there, Chief." Jim jiggled Blair slightly, "If fact, I think you might even smell a little bit, partner."

"I sick, Daddy."

"I know, baby, I know."

Lucas slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Jim to take care of his son.

~oOo~

With Blair cleaned and rinsed off, Jim called out to Lucas. He could hear the boy outside in the hall, not at all surprised at the close proximity he kept. "Lucas, can you take Blair for a minute while I finish up?"

Quick to move, Lucas snatched a fresh towel from the towel rack. He took Blair from Jim's arms and wrapped him up snugly. He moved towards the door in order to give Jim some privacy, but stopped as Blair's hand shot out from under the towel. "No, I want Daddy." Lucas stopped and complied. He turned around so Blair had a visual on his father.

"I'm coming, buddy. Just give me a second." Jim picked up the soap, pulled off his soaking boxers and kicked them into the corner of the shower stall. After a quick soap and final rinse, he shut off the faucet and slid open the door. "Lucas, pass me that towel, will ya?"

With Blair still in his arms, Lucas pulled another towel from the rack and threw it over to Jim.

Jim caught it and dried off quickly. He secured the towel around his waist and reached out to take Blair. "Okay, Munchkin, time for PJs and then bed."

Now on the edge of exhaustion, Blair closed his eyes and rested his head on Jim's shoulder, content to let his father look after him.

With Jim now taking sole care of Blair, Lucas made short work of the mess on the bathroom floor. As he worked he thought back to the scene a few minutes earlier, trying to put his finger on something that was missing. And then it hit him. There was no fear, no disgust or repulsion, not even any discomfort. _Maybe this is how it's supposed to feel. Maybe this is how normal kids feel when they see their dads naked_. Although he was fully aware that Jim was not his father, he was beginning to see that Jim was a whole lot better than the real thing had ever been.

With an armful of dirty clothes, Lucas switched off the bathroom light and made his way down to the laundry. He could hear the soothing sounds of Jim's voice coming from Blair's bedroom. "A lot better than the real thing," he whispered.

~oOo~

Jim poured himself his second cup of coffee. It was three in the morning and he was exhausted, but sleep evaded him. He was too uptight, too wound up by the events that had taken place earlier. The guilt was there, again, keeping company like a persistent toothache. Most of the time it was bearable, but when it flared, it sent a shooting pain right to the centre of his heart. It was a feeling that he knew would weigh him down until the day his son no longer remembered, a day he prayed that would come sooner, rather than later.

A tug on the edge of his robe alerted him to Blair's presence.

"I thuhsty," Blair whispered. He lifted his arms, seeking the comfort of his father's closeness. "Up."

"You gotta stop sneaking up on me, kiddo." Jim swung Blair into his arms. "How do you manage to do that anyway?"

Blair shrugged his shoulders, too tired to answer. "Milk, warm and chocolate," he said, snuggling his face into the nape of his father's neck.

"How about juice, cold and apple?" Jim replied. "I don't think milk is the best thing for your stomach at the moment, Chief, and I'm sure your poor old dad isn't up for an encore performance."

Receiving no resistance to the idea, Jim moved over to the cupboard and pulled out Blair's 'comfort' cup. It had a snap-on lid and a straw in the top. Blair didn't often use it, but when he was upset or tired, it somehow made him feel a little more secure.

With the lid on tight, Jim carried Blair into the living room. Sinking down on the sofa, he pulled the throw-rug from the back. Blair was dressed in only a light singlet and a pair of night-time underpants. His body had still been hot when he'd been put him to bed, but a combination of sleep and Tylenol had helped cool him down considerably as the night wore on. He sat with Blair nestled on his lap. "Just little sips, Chief," he instructed, lifting the straw to Blair's lips.

Blair took the straw, sucking the juice into his dry mouth. Jim pinched the straw between his fingers to slow down the rate at which Blair was swallowing. He watched in fascination as his son's eyelids started to close and, with the juice now all but gone, Blair continued to suck in earnest, his actions almost instinctive.

"I've missed out on so much, kiddo," Jim whispered, content to just sit and watch. Gently he traced the outline of Blair's face with his fingers. The child on his lap was no longer the toddler that had arrived on his doorstep six months ago. His son had grown and Blair was now definitely a little boy, his little boy. Jim's fingers lingered, feeling the muscles twitch beneath his touch as Blair's sucking action continued. "I never got to hold you my arms when you were born and tell you how much you were wanted, how much I loved you," he said. His fingers drifted across the soft, smooth skin of Blair's cheek. "I never got to give you a bottle and watch you fall asleep in my arms." He bent down and kissed Blair's curls. "I never got to see you take your first steps or hear you say your first words." An overwhelming sadness settled upon him. "I don't even know what you looked like... and I guess I never will." He tightened the hold he had on his son, "But I promise you one thing, baby. I'll be there when you lose your first tooth and when you start your first day at school." He shifted his body, lifting his legs and positioning Blair's body next to him. "I'll be there to give you your first driving lesson and buy you your first car." He adjusted a cushion beneath his head and pulled the throw-rug up to cover them both. "I'll be there when you go out on your first date and I'll be there to hold you the first time your heart gets broken." He closed his eyes, Blair's curls lightly tickling his chin. "She won't deny me that, Chief. I promise you that."

~oOo~

_More coming very soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

Jim poked his head into Blair's bedroom. It had been two days since Blair had been struck down with the flu and, while the youngster was on the road to recovery, he still wasn't one hundred percent. He pulled the door shut quietly, wanting Blair to sleep for a while longer.

Glancing at the clock on the wall as he padded down the stairs, Jim was surprised to hear the sound of movement in the kitchen. It was rare to see Lucas up at this hour of the morning, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee made him head straight for the cupboard, thankful for the small favour. Leaning back against the counter, he eyed Lucas, who was sitting at the table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of his own. _Not going to be a great day,_ he thought, taking in the kid's appearance. Lucas was dressed like he was about to embark on a mission to the Antarctic

It hadn't taken him long to work out that Lucas's clothing matched his moods. If something was troubling or bothering the kid, the more clothes he seemed to pile on, but if his world was in balance, it wasn't unusual for him to come to breakfast in only his boxer shorts. Jim had never broached the subject. If Lucas felt secure enough to wander around the house half-naked it was probably a good sign, and having Lucas feeling settled made him feel like he was making good headway with the kid.

"You're up early this morning," he commented, taking a seat at the table.

"Couldn't sleep."

"You feeling okay? You're looking a little pale." Jim reached over the table, feeling Lucas's brow for any sign of a fever.

"I'm fine, just a little tired." Lucas closed his eyes, briefly. "Man, will I be glad when today is over."

Jim pulled away. "What exam do you have?"

"Biology. My last one." Lucas took a small sip of his coffee. "And because it's the last one, a few of the guys are going to the mall to grab something to eat after the exam. Would it be okay if I tagged along?"

"You sure you're feeling up to it?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine once I get going."

"Well if you're certain you're up to it, then I can't see why not. Just make sure you're back here before dark and if you need a ride, call me, okay?"

There was something in Lucas's expression that gave Jim an unsettled feeling; it almost seemed as if Lucas was debating whether or not to tell him something. He decided not to push. If Lucas needed to talk to him, he wanted the kid to do so on his own terms.

Lucas pushed back his chair. "I better go get ready for school."

"And I better get started on breakfast." Although Blair was recovering well, he still wasn't well enough to go back to day care, and they needed to leave earlier than usual to make the trek across town to his brother's house. Steven's wife, Rachael, had offered to look after Blair. Matthew had been off school for three days with the same bug and, with the new baby in the house, she welcomed any distraction that would keep her bored son occupied.

Deciding on oatmeal, Jim's thoughts turned back to Lucas. There was something wrong, of that he was sure, but unless Lucas opened up to him, finding the answer would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Although he'd felt they'd come a long way in bridging the gap in their relationship, there was still so much about Lucas and his life that had stayed blanketed in darkness. The best he could do was to keep on an extra close eye on the kid and hope that Mohammad and mountain would this time switch places.

~oOo~

"Where the hell are you?" Jim hung up the phone with a thud. It was now well after dark and there was still no sign of Lucas. He'd phoned one of the girls Lucas had become friendly with, only to be told what Lucas had initially told him. That they'd all gone to the mall after the exam as planned, but when it was time to leave, Lucas had refused a ride. He said he had something to do and had changed out of his school uniform. He'd also left his bag in the back of one of the kid's cars, saying he'd pick it up tomorrow.

Jim paced the room, not really sure what to do next. Blair lay, sound asleep, on the sofa and he reached out to gently feel his son's cheek. The fever which had raged through the child's body a few days ago was all but gone, and he contemplated bundling him up and taking him out in the truck to go look for Lucas. The telephone rang and he snatched it up.

_"Hey Jim, just calling to see how my favourite three-year-old is doing. He over the worst of it?"_

"Yeah, I think so," Ellison replied, distracted. "His nose is still a little stuffed up, but he's on the mend.

_"Jim, you sound concerned. You sure everything's okay?"_

"It's Lucas, Simon. He hasn't come home yet and it's starting to snow pretty heavily out there."

_"Have you called his friends?"_

"Yeah, but no one's seem him since they were at the mall, and that was a couple of hours ago. He told his friends that he had something to do before coming home, but nobody has any idea where he went."

_"You want me to come over?"_

"No, that's okay. I'm sure he'll be home any minute, and when he does get home, he's gonna get the riot act read from cover to cover."

_"Jim, look, I'm just about to leave the station. Why don't I drop over on my way home? I'm sure Lucas will be back by the time I get there and speaking from experience, you know that I'm pretty damn good at reading the riot act."_

"Simon, you live twenty minutes in the other direction."

_"Yeah, well, you know me. I always like to take the scenic route. I'll see you shortly."_

The line disconnected before Jim could protest.

Jim moved away from the sofa, and over to the large, floor-to-ceiling window at the front of the house. Pulling back the heavy drapes, he peered out into the bleak, dark evening, and concentrated. Every shadow, every outline, every silhouette that moved with the wind, caught his eye and he was amazed at the clarity visible to him. Living with enhanced senses had, to date, proven to be a hit-and-miss affair. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn't. When Blair was with him, he seemed to have slightly more control over them, but on his own, he was often left floundering. There had been only one time when he felt he had them completely under control. The time when his son was missing was the only time he'd had a glimpse of their full power. The only time when he had truly known what it was like to be a Sentinel.

His vision dulled and he turned away from the window in annoyance. "Where are you?" he muttered.

~oOo~

By the time Simon's car pulled up the long, tree-lined driveway, Jim's concern for Lucas had grown. He pulled opened the door before Simon had a chance to ring the bell. "He's not home," he said.

Simon shucked out of his heavy overcoat. "Have you tried the school? Maybe he had a late tutorial he forgot to tell you about."

"Of course I've tried the school," Jim snapped. "And it was last exam was today. No tutorials. That's why they were going to the mall."

"Well did he give you any indication that something was up? You two didn't have an argument or anything, did you?"

"No. He was fine when he left this morning. A little distracted maybe, but he said he was just tired." Jim leaned past Simon and grabbed his jacket. "Would you mind keeping an eye on Blair for me?"

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna take a look around the neighbourhood, see if I can't spot him." Jim zipped up his parka, and pulled the collar up around his neck. "Blair's asleep on the sofa. I gave him a dose of decongestant about an hour ago." He pulled a cap from his jacket pocket. "It tends to knock him out. I doubt he'll wake up again tonight."

Jim reached for the doorknob, but stopped. A movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye.

"What is it?" Simon asked. His attention shifted towards the stairs, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"The cat."

"The cat, as in the big, black cat!" Banks exclaimed. "And in the house?"

"It's always in the house."

The cat's green eyes were piercing as it let out a deep-throated growl.

Jim took the stairs two at a time. "It's trying to tell me something." He followed the shadow down the hallway and into Lucas's room. A book had been knocked off the bedside table, and the kid's treasured photograph had dislodged from the back. Jim bent down and picked it up. The cat growled again, nudging his leg. "What!" Jim almost yelled at the animal spirit.

"Jim?" Simon questioned, walking cautiously into the room. The sight of Ellison talking to invisible animal spirits always unnerved him. "What's that?" he asked, indicating the photo.

"It's a photo of Lucas and his brother." He studied the image. "Scott!" He raised his head suddenly. "Simon, can you remember the details of Scott's file?"

"It's a little hard to forget." Banks answered.

"Do you recall where he was buried?"

"At Christian Brother's Cemetery. Why?" Simon's eyes lit up. "You don't think that's where Lucas is. Jim, it's gotta be at least fifty miles from here."

Jim looked at the cat. It had stopped circling and stood perfectly still. Its luminous green eyes blinked once.

Jim dropped the picture on the bed. "He's there, Simon. I'm certain of it."

"Hey, hang on," Simon hooked Jim by the arm as he pushed past. "Let me get a patrol car out there to take a look and if he's there, they can pick him up."

"No." His internal voice was strong. _No strangers_. "He needs me." Ellison pulled his arm from Simon's grip. "Will you stay with Blair?"

Simon didn't feel the question required a response. "Go," he simply said.

~oOo~

Ellison blew into his hands, his warm breath misting the air in front of him as it condensed against the chill of the night. The bitter cold of the howling wind whipped through his heavy jacket, its icy fingers stinging his face. He peered into the darkness, trying to focus his concentration beyond the endless rows of headstones. His hearing spiked for a brief moment, but not long enough to be of any benefit. "Lucas!" he shouted into the darkness, frustrated by the lack of control he had over his senses. It had been just over six months since he'd discovered his 'gift', discovered the reason that revealed the truth behind the strange, vacant episodes that had afflicted him since childhood. The reason may have been explained but, unfortunately, how to use this newfound 'power' hadn't. Incacha, in his usual aloof way, provided him with no more information than 'it was his path, his destiny'. _Typical,_ he mused. _A handbook would have been a hell of a lot more useful than some mystical, Chopec mumbo jumbo._

Realising that his senses were going to be of no use, Jim pulled a flashlight from the glove box of the truck. "Where are you, kid?" he muttered, his eyes tracking the beam of white light that penetrated into the black veil of the night. Spooked by a sound behind him, he turned quickly on his heels, instinctively reaching for his gun. "God damn it, cat!" he swore. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" He holstered his weapon. "Okay, Sylvester, time to pay your way. Where's Lucas?" He bent down, closer to his animal spirit. "Where is he, puss?"

The cat stared back at him, its gaze intense, except for a brief moment of unease that flashed across its face. The jaguar shifted its attention away from Jim, and focussed deep into the endless night. It began to pace, its growing agitation voiced by way of a low, warning growl coming from deep with inside its chest. Then, without warning, the silence was shattered. In the dead of night, not long before the bewitching hour, a jaguar's defiance sounded loud and clear. A pronouncement had been made and a decision had been reached.

The jaguar flowed into motion. It padded stealthily across the dead, frozen landscape, its shining black fur becoming one with the night. Feeling a connection with the animal spirit, proclaimed to be his own, Jim followed suit, winding his way through a maze of tombstones and never once losing sight of the jaguar.

As he moved further and further into the cavernous depths of the cemetery, it became apparent to Jim that even in death, one still had a social standing. Elaborate headstones of granite and marble gave way to simple plots of concrete and stone. He came to an abrupt halt, nearly tumbling over the cat, which had pulled up suddenly. His eyes were drawn to the light of a single lamppost at the end of a weed-covered, gravel path. "Lucas," Jim breathed in relief. He closed the space quickly, never once expecting the sight that confronted him.

"Jesus, kid, what the hell are you trying to do?" Jim rasped, stunned. Sitting on the frozen ground beside a small grave, Lucas was dressed in nothing more than his jeans and undershirt. The only thing keeping him from freezing to death was the warmth offered by the body of a small, but determined, wolf pup. Jim scanned the immediate area. Seeing no sign of Lucas's jacket or sweater, he stripped off his parka and squatted down. "Lucas, what the hell is going on?" He wrapped his coat tightly around the kid's shoulders. The wind cut through his heavy wool sweater like a hot knife through butter.

Receiving no response, Jim ran his hands furiously up Lucas's arms, trying desperately to generate some heat. "Lucas," he said again, this time finding it hard to keep the anger out of his voice. "It's freezing out here. What are you doing? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Lucas jerked his head up, locking eyes with Jim, who got the distinct feeling that was exactly what Lucas had in mind.

Firming up the jacket around Lucas's shoulders, Jim roughly pulled the kid to his feet. His grip tightened, and he shook Lucas hard. He didn't try and hide his anger. They'd been here before and they'd moved on. Lucas had moved on. "This is bullshit Lucas and you know it." He shook Lucas again. "You made a promise – not only to me, but to Blair. Are you going to man up and keep that promise, or are you intending on backing down. Intending on taking the easy way out?"

Lucas raised a clenched fist. Jim caught sight of the movement and prepared himself to do battle. He glanced down, shifting his feet, steadying himself, ready to swing Lucas around to contain him. But the punch never came. Lucas just looked down at his fist, and opened it slowly. A handful of gravel fell through his fingers, dropping silently to the ground and, barely above a whisper, he spoke. "He wouldn't even pay for a proper grave." His eyes filled with tears. "The bastard didn't even give his own son a decent burial."

"What?" Jim glanced at the grave, for the first time taking notice. It was a pauper's grave. A tiny plot edged with broken concrete and filled with gravel.

"He was our dad, Jim. It wasn't supposed to be like this." Lucas faltered, but the game was over. There was no hope of reining in his emotions. "How could a father let this happen to his son?"

Jim released the grip he still had on the jacket collar, and reached out to touch Lucas's cold cheek. He didn't have the answer. How could he answer something he was unable to come to terms with himself? "Oh, God, Lucas, I don't know. I just don't know." A tingling sensation ignited the tips of his finger. Lucas was crying.

Jim opened his arms and Lucas didn't hesitate. "It should'a been me," he breathed raggedly against Jim's shoulder. "It should'a been me," he repeated over and over again.

Jim wrapped his arms strongly around Lucas, his hand rubbing up and down vigorously, against the boy's back. "It's not your fault, kid." He squeezed harder. "None of this is your fault." He turned his head, his lips brushing Lucas's temple. "Please don't do this, kiddo." His own voice was now barely above a whisper. "You've come so far. Don't give up the fight now. We need you, Lucas."

Lucas pushed back out of Jim's embrace, his fingers still clasping Jim's sweater tightly. "He never knew. He never knew what it was like."

Brushing a strand of tousled, wet hair away from Lucas's face, Jim studied the boy, trying to understand. "Knew what, Lucas?"

Tears now streamed down Lucas's face, his fingers twisting the fibres of Jim's sweater. "Knew what it was like to have a family... a proper family. A family that loved him."

"You're wrong, kiddo. He did know what it was like to be loved." Jim's hand cupped Lucas's face fiercely. "He had someone who loved him more than anything else in the world. He had a brother." Jim's thumb travelled to the hollow just under Lucas's eye. "He had you, Lucas."

Any chance that Lucas had of getting his emotions under control dissolved as Jim's words hit home. He folded back into Jim's arms, accepting without question what was being offered.

The shadow of a cougar appeared in distance, its presence acknowledged by a call of the wild.

Lucas Wilder had been given the blessing of the spirits.

~oOo~

Ellison turned off the highway, pulling into a parking space in front of a twenty-four-hour diner. The heater pumped hot air into the cab, but still Lucas shivered.

"Come on," Jim urged, unsnapping Lucas's seatbelt. "You need to get something warm into you."

As he guided Lucas toward the front doors of the diner, it occurred to him how much of an enigma the kid still was. When he'd agreed to take Lucas in, he'd been expecting a hell of a lot more resistance than he got. The kid had been living on the streets since he was nine; he'd assumed that dealing with Lucas would be akin to taming a wild animal, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Sure, there'd been a few tense moments, but when Jim thought back, these usually revolved around Blair. For a teenager that was used to doing what he wanted, whenever he wanted, Lucas had adjusted amazingly well to the structure of family life. He didn't balk when rules were tossed into his face – in fact he seemed to flourish – and as time went on, Jim could feel Lucas's guard started to fall. It was almost as if the kid's outer protective casing was being chipped away. The tough teenager whose exterior had always kept him safe and untouchable, was beginning to show his vulnerabilities and disclose his fears. A pivotal conversation, the contents of Lucas's file and the occasional emotional outburst or two, had given Jim some insight into the life of Lucas Wilder, but there was still so much more to know. And that was the hard part. The story was Lucas's to tell, only when he was ready. It wasn't Jim's call to initiate the narrative.

Steering Lucas over to a booth by the window, Jim took a seat on the opposite side of the table, and acknowledged the waitress. "You got any soup on the menu?"

"We got chicken and chicken. Take your pick."

"Guess we'll have chicken," Jim answered sarcastically. "Just one bowl," he added. "And two coffees. If that's not too much trouble."

"I'm here to serve," she muttered before heading back to the counter.

Lucas picked up the salt container, and began twisting the lid on and off.

"Hey," Jim said, plucking the salt shaker out of Lucas's hand and placing it back on the table. "I would have driven you out here you know. All you had to do was ask."

Lucas's eyes remained fixated on the salt shaker. "No, you wouldn't," he replied quietly. "Not with Blair still being sick."

"Okay, maybe I wouldn't have brought you tonight, but we could have figured out a time to come."

"Today was important. I had to see Scotty today." Lucas finally met Jim's eyes. "It was his birthday. He would have been thirteen."

Jim brushed his hand over Lucas's knuckles "Why didn't you say something this morning? When I asked if you were okay, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you've got enough on your plate without having to deal with my problems."

"Dealing with problems together are what families are for, kiddo."

Lucas snatched his hand away, tucking it under the table. "That's the whole problem. Can't you see that? I don't belong here. I don't deserve any of this!"

There was only one other patron in the quiet diner and Lucas's agitated voice got the attention of the man sitting at the counter. A trucker, typical in every sense of the word. Flannel shirt, jeans, trucker's hat and a girth that told a tale of too many greasy diner meals and not enough time spent on his feet to work them off. The man shifted his weight off the stool and ambled towards Lucas. "You okay, boy?" he asked, taking a long and careful look at Jim.

There was recognition in Lucas's eyes. He'd hitched his way out to the cemetery; the truck driver standing in front of them was his ride. "Yeah, thanks, I'm cool," he replied.

"You sure? 'Cause you know you ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna do. You just say the word and I'll have this feller on his way." He'd picked up Lucas on Interstate 90 and, in all his years on the road, there were only two reasons he knew for a boy Lucas's age to be wandering the highway at night. He was either a runaway, or he was looking for someone to buy what he was selling. He hadn't quite made up his mind which one Lucas was, until now.

"Hey, listen, buddy," Jim snapped. "Why don't you just go back to what you were doing and let us get on with what we were doing, okay?"

"And just exactly what were you doing, you sleazy son of a bitch? Getting your kicks outta hitting on teenage boys?"

"Clyde, no!" Lucas was up and out of his seat, putting his body between the big man and Jim. Clyde was a good guy and, while he may have been as large and as wide as an old Oregon Redwood, it was the kind of large that gave Lucas the impression the trucker was not too far away from a heart attack tapping him on the shoulder. "It's not what you think."

Jim was now on his feet. He yanked Lucas by the arm pulling him sideways before shoving him behind his back. "One piece of advice, free of charge. Stay out of family business or the next piece of advice you'll get will be coming from the doctor's surgery down the road."

"Family business?" Clyde looked from Jim to Lucas and then back to Jim. There was a slight family resemblance, if you looked hard enough to see it.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" Jim replied. "'Cause I sure as hell got a problem with your accusations."

Lucas was now wedged tight against the edge of the table; Jim's body was not only shielding him, but its weight was keeping him from moving. He grabbed onto the back of Ellison's sweater, resting his head against Jim's back. "Hey, I don't feel so good. I think I gotta sit down."

Jim moved, allowing Lucas his freedom. "You okay?" he asked as Lucas's backside hit the chair with an audible 'plonk'.

Clyde's large hand came to rest on Lucas's forehead. "I think your boy might be coming down with a fever."

Jim pushed the truckers hand away, his own moving into place. Lucas's forehead was definitely warm.

"Hey, don't. Would both of you stop," Lucas protested, batting away Jim's hand. "I don't have a fever. I'm just hungry, that's all. I haven't eaten since last night."

"Marion," Clyde bellowed. "Stop ya yakking and bring this boy out some food, 'fore he collapses."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. I'm coming. No need to get yer shorts in a twist." She placed a bowl of steaming broth in front of Lucas. "I only got one pair a hands, you know."

"Here kid, eat up." Clyde slid the bowl closer to Lucas. He studied Jim for a moment before taking his leave and once again perching himself on his usual stool at the counter.

Jim waited, not saying a word until Lucas's pushed the empty bowl away. "So you care to me tell who that guy was?"

"Just a trucker," Lucas answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "He picked me up on the way to one of his deliveries. I guess he's on his way back again."

"You were hitchhiking along the highway, on a night like this! Jesus kid, take a look at that guy. He's gotta weigh twice as much as you," Jim exclaimed in disbelief. "Don't you realise what a dangerous situation you could have potentially put yourself in?"

"Yeah, I do," was Lucas's reply.

"Okay Lucas, enough is enough." Jim was now officially pissed off with the cryptic answers Lucas could spiel out when he wanted to. "You and I are going to talk and we are going to sort a few fundamental facts of life. Understood?"

"Like what?"

"Like why you have this sudden self-destructive urge, for starters."

"Because I'm happy, okay?" Lucas snapped.

"And what's so wrong with being happy?"

"You just don't get it do you?"

"Lucas there's a lot I get about you and a lot I understand, but what I also see is that you live a part of your life like it's a black hole. How the hell do you expect me to get the bottom of that unless you're willing help me out?"

Lucas could feel himself falling back, relying on old habits, relying on time-honoured rules. When the spotlight become too bright, you step back, meld back into the darkness that would hide a multitude of sins. Lucas glanced over at Jim. He was right – a part of his life was a black hole. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be alone, Jim?" he finally said, braving the light. "Or to be so hungry and cold that you'd practically do anything for a warm bed and some food in your stomach?" Lucas studied Jim's reaction. "That's my black hole, Jim. I know what it's like to be a nine-year-old, hiding in the shadow of night, because you're too afraid that if someone recognises you, you'll be hauled straight back to your foster family. I know what it's like to eat other people's garbage, or to sneak into people's basements in the hope of finding a warm place to sleep. I know what it's like to see your father dragged off to prison because you didn't keep your end of the bargain."

Lucas paused, briefly, "And now, for the first time in a long time, I know what it's like to feel safe, to feel happy."

"And that's a bad thing?" Jim asked

"Yeah, because it means that I'm forgetting. Don't you see? Being on the streets was a constant reminder. It never let me forget who I was or what I was... or what I had done, for that matter." Lucas paused, daring to let the light shine brighter; daring to voice his darkest fears. "How can you honestly look at me after knowing what I used to do for money, and say you're comfortable with me living in your house, being around your son?"

"Stop it," Jim snapped. "If I had to choose anybody in this world to look after Blair, it would be you. Not Joel and Jessie, or Simon. For Christ sakes, Lucas, you nearly died trying to protect him."

"He nearly died because of what I did."

"No, you're wrong, kid. Ultimately, you had nothing to do with it. Naomi would have taken him, with or without you. You being there is the only reason I can hug that little boy today. You, Lucas, are the reason we are a family."

Lucas looked back down, and once again picked up the salt shaker. "What would you say if I said that even after everything he did, I still think about my dad? What would you say if I told you that I even miss him sometimes. Pretty sick, huh?"

"Lucas, I can't and won't judge you on how you feel about your father. You were just a kid. He gave you love, and like all children, you accepted it. You were too young to know what was going on."

"I knew," Lucas answered, quietly. "Maybe not at first, but as I got older, I knew." He looked up, hesitating for a moment. "It doesn't happen that much anymore, you know."

"What doesn't?"

"The times I think about my dad. He's fading away, and so are the memories. I mean, they're still there, but they're not as vivid. It's almost like I have a barrier around me. I can still see them, but somehow I know they won't break through, that they can't hurt me. It scares me, Jim."

Jim once again plucked the shaker from Lucas's hand. "Why?" he asked

Lucas looked up. It was now or never. Bare his soul to Jim or forever hold his peace. "Because I'm afraid it won't last," he said. "I'm afraid that one day you'll look at me and you'll see who I really am. I'm afraid that you'll ask me to leave your house, to stay away from Blair. I'm afraid of losing my family again."

"Give me your wallet," Jim said, his voice sounding harsher than intended.

"What?"

"Your wallet." Jim waved his hand, urging Lucas to hand it over.

Lucas pulled it from his jeans, and placed it on the table. _Forever hold you peace,_ he thought, with regret.

The moment the wallet hit the table, Jim picked it up and flicked through it until he found what he was after. He pulled out Lucas's ID. "Read the address," he ordered.

Lucas stared at him blankly.

"Okay, then I'll read it. Thirty-one Parkwood Avenue. You know what's special about this address?"

Lucas shook his head.

"The special thing about this address is that it not only happens to be my home, and Blair's home, but your home. This is _our_ home, Lucas. Twice tonight you've said you're afraid I'll kick you out of my home. This place, this address, is _your_ home, just as much as it is mine. And do you really want to know what I see when I look at you?" Jim didn't give Lucas the chance to answer. "I see a young man who has more courage and determination than I've seen in most adults. I see someone who is not afraid to stand up and fight for those he loves. And," Jim added without an ounce of hesitation "I see someone I, for one, would be proud to call my son."

This time Lucas's courage didn't falter. He needed confirmation. He needed security. He injected a tinge of humour into his voice to help aid what he was about to say. "You really think you could handle having two sons?"

Jim smiled. "As long as you're willing to do the dishes and take the trash out, I think I can handle it." He reached over and touched Lucas's flushed cheek. His temperature was certainly on the rise. "You ready to go home, kiddo?"

"Yeah, home ... sounds good."

Jim left Lucas sitting at the booth while he paid the check. Clyde acknowledged him with a nod. "You and your boy sort things out?"

"We're getting there," Jim replied, handing over a twenty to Marion.

"Good. 'Cause there ain't nothing worth losing your kid over. When it comes down to it, sorry ain't a real hard word to say. You just gotta swolla' your pride sometimes and come out and say it."

Jim took his change from the waitress. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Don't end up being a stubborn fool like me. It ain't worth the cost." Clyde went back to reading his paper.

"Hey," Jim said, getting the big man's attention once more. "Thanks for looking out for my boy."

"I do what I can," Clyde replied, looking up briefly. "I'd get that kid of yours home, if I were you. He ain't looking so good. I think he's coming down with a fever."

Jim took Clyde's advice. He settled Lucas in the truck, tucking a blanket around his shoulders. A few months ago he could have quite easily left Lucas to rot in jail and never given the kid another thought, with no remorse or guilt. But now was another chapter in his life. Lucas, by proxy, had become his son and, just as he did for his son by blood, Lucas would receive nothing more and nothing less than Blair.

~oOo~


	4. Chapter 4

~oOo~

Jim pulled the truck into the garage, the automatic door closing behind him. Simon's hand was on the car door, pulling it open before Jim had a chance to roll to a complete stop. "He okay?"

"He will be. How's Blair?"

"Tucked up snug and tight in bed. He hasn't woken."

Simon moved around the car and pulled open the passenger side door. Lucas's face was flushed and his eyes bleary. "The flu?" he asked, his question directed at Jim.

"That would be my guess."

"You're burning up, kid," Simon muttered, his hand now spread out on Lucas's forehead.

"Don't." Lucas knocked Simon's hand away. "Don't touch."

"Hey, Lucas, it's okay." Jim pushed past Simon. "Why don't you head inside and grab a shower before you hit the sack? It'll help cool you down a little."

Lucas's eyes remained fixed on Simon as he pulled himself from the cab and moved toward the door leading to the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" Simon asked. "Did I overstep the mark or something?"

"He's just a bit out of it Simon, and he's had a hell of a day. Today was Scott's birthday. He would have been thirteen."

"Christmas and birthdays, not always a reason to celebrate," Simon replied.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Jim slammed the truck door and made for the house. "You feel like staying for dinner? I've made enough beef stew to feed an army, and it doesn't look like anyone else will be eating it tonight."

Simon accepted Jim's invitation. He had the feeling that Jim's offer wasn't made out of politeness. Ellison was seeking company.

~oOo~

The sound of retching was unmistakable and, by its persistent tone, gave an impression that it intended to hang around for some time yet. Jim let his presence be known, knocking lightly on the door before entering the main bathroom. Dressed only in his jeans, Lucas was hunkered over the toilet bowl, the chicken soup he'd consumed a short hour ago making a valiant return. Jim ran a washcloth under some tepid water placed it on the back of Lucas's neck. There was nothing else he could do now but wait.

Finally when the spasms eased and Lucas no longer hugged the toilet like it was his new best friend, Jim guided him to his room. He pulled back the covers and pushed Lucas down onto the mattress. The kid's eyes were heavy and bloodshot, and his skin sticky as the fever took a major foothold. He wiped the sweat from Lucas's face with the same washcloth. "You think you can keep down a couple of Tylenol?"

Lucas shook his head, too sick to say 'no'.

"I think you need to try, kiddo," Jim encouraged, shaking out two tablets on the palm of his hand. "You're burning up, here, and we need to get your fever down."

Water, reluctantly followed by pills slid down Lucas's throat. He breathed heavily, blanching as the water hit his gut.

"Come on," Jim said. "You need to lay down."

"Can I do anything to help?" Simon's deep voice drowned out Jim's and Lucas opened his eyes with a start, his body immediately ridged and defensive.

"Lucas?" Jim questioned, concerned by the reaction.

"I can't. Please not tonight ... I can't."

"Hey, relax, it's just Simon." Jim wished he was wrong, but he was afraid his suspicion about Lucas's reaction was right on target.

"Simon?"

"Yeah kid, just Simon." Jim shook the blanket away from the sheet and lay the cool, cotton material over Lucas's body. The kid's jeans could wait - wait until Lucas knew that removing them was not associated with sex.

The bed dipped. The jaguar was back. All signs of agitation in the feline were gone and, without thinking, Jim reached out, for the first time feeling the softness of the cat's sleek fur. It purred, closed its eyes and butted its head against his hand. "Don't get used to this," he said, scratching the cat behind the ear. "This is only temporary. As soon as he's better, you're outta here."

The cat ignored him, curling itself into a ball at the end of the bed.

Satisfied that Lucas was being watched over, Jim moved to the door and guided Simon out of the room. "Hey, cat," he said, ignoring the look on Banks' face.

The jaguar lazily opened its eyes.

"Thanks."

~oOo~

"Lucas." Simon looked up from the magazine he was reading, not expecting to see Lucas out of bed. "Jim's just upstairs checking on Blair. Do you want me to get him for you?"

Lucas moved further into the room. "Did you pay him?"

"Did I pay who?" Simon asked, a little confused. He threw the magazine down on the coffee table, his eyes narrowing. The kid's face was flushed and if Simon were a betting man he would have put fifty down on Lucas being in the land of tangerine trees and marmalade skys.

"My dad. Did you give Dad the money?" Lucas's hand came to rest on the waistband of his boxers, anticipating Simon's answer. "It's fifty bucks if you just want me to suck you. A hundred if you want the lot."

Betting man or not, Simon couldn't quite believe what he was seeing as Lucas pushed his boxers down over his hips. "Jesus Christ, kid." He surged to his feet and in one, swift, fluid motion, yanked Lucas's boxers back into place.

Lucas became instantly agitated. "No, you've paid. You have to take me. Dad won't give you your money back. Please mister, please," Lucas begged. The kid, now standing in front of Simon sounded more like a frightened nine-year-old boy, not the confident, self-assured teenager that he'd come to know.

"Jim," Simon called out, edging out of the living room and towards the stairs. "You better get down here." He placed a foot on the bottom stair, not realising his mistake.

Lucas's reaction was instinctual. Nobody was allowed up the stairs. Nobody was allowed near his brother. Scotty would not be sold. Not like that. He swung Simon around and, before Simon could react, Lucas's fist connected with a crack, sending the him sprawling to the floor. "He's not for sale!" Lucas shouted, now blocking the stairs with his body.

Jim didn't need his sentinel abilities to hear the commotion downstairs. He left Blair's room, and the moment he appeared at the top of the stairs, Lucas had a new enemy. "You bastard!" he yelled. "Stay away from my brother!"

Despite the initial surprise, Simon recovered quickly and scrambled to his feet. He latched onto Lucas from behind and pulled him back while Jim closed the gap from above. Lucas's torso was slick with sweat, making it difficult for Simon to get a solid grip. Jim added his own touch, cupping Lucas's face. "Lucas, Scott is not upstairs. You're not with your dad anymore, kid. You live here with me. Me and Blair."

Lucas broke free of Simon's hold. The man in front of him, the one so tenderly cupping his cheek would be an easy target. Guys like him always were.

Jim anticipated Lucas's next move with exacting accuracy. He moved to the side, so the oncoming punch was weaker. All he needed to do was wrap his hand around Lucas's wrist, spin him around and in one, quick, precise move he had Lucas immobilised. He immediately tightened his hold, flexing his bicep to add strength to what he anticipated was to come. But what he wasn't expecting was to bear the load of Lucas's entire body weight as the kid collapsed in a heap, his head barely missing the base of the banister.

Without missing a beat, Simon's hand shot out, feeling for a pulse. "It's all over the place," he said, anxiously.

A flash of headlights illuminated the hallway; the arriving car stopped in the turning circle directly outside the front door.

"Thank God," Jim's hand was on Lucas's chest, monitoring his breathing. "It's Gillian."

A blast of cold air swirled in the entrance way as Simon ushered Dr. Gillian Francis into the house.

Cool, calm, not panicked, she moved to Lucas's side. Unclasping the lock on her medical bag, she removed the electronic thermometer, inserting it in Lucas's ear. The instrument buzzed and she checked the results. "Do you have a bathtub?" she asked, her voice remaining composed.

"Upstairs, in the main bathroom," Jim answered. "How high?" he asked.

"Too high for my liking. We need to get his temp down, now."

"I got his legs." Simon already had Lucas by the ankles. He shifted his weight, looked at Jim and began to lift.

"Which door?" Gillian asked, pushing ahead.

"Third on the right," Jim ground out, straining under the weight of heaving Lucas's entire upper body up the stairs.

Now in the bathroom, Gillian dropped to her knees, pushed the plug down, turned on the faucet and stripped off her coat. "Lower him gently," she said.

As Jim and Simon guided Lucas body over the bathtub rim, what Gillian was trying to avoid came to fruition. Lucas's body jerked, slowly at first, before increasing in intensity. "On the tiles, on his side," she ordered.

As soon as Lucas hit the floor, Simon let go of his ankles "I'll call an ambulance."

"No, I need you in here. As soon as the convulsion stops, we have to get him into the tub." Gillian stroked Lucas's hair. "That's it, honey, just ride it out. You'll be fine. I promise."

Lucas's body stopped jerking as suddenly as it started; the only movement left was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

"Gillian?"

"It's okay, Jim. We just need to get his temperature down; once we've done that, I'll assess the situation."

Jim nodded and in silence, both he and Simon resumed their positions, lifting Lucas between them until he was up and over the rim and lowered into the bath.

"Jim, start sponging his face and neck." Picking up a jug perched at the end of the tub, Gillian started pouring cold water over Lucas's chest, waiting until the rising water was high enough to do the job for her. "Do you have any liquid Tylenol?" she asked

"In the medicine cabinet. Above the sink. It's at the back."

Simon flipped open the child safety lock and rummaged through the cabinet, finding both the bottle and a medicine glass.

Gillian looked at the medicine glass. "Do you have a dropper?"

"I think so. Simon, there should be a dropper in there somewhere."

"Got it," Simon said, tossing it over to Jim.

"Okay, sit him up some more, Jim."

"Come on big guy," Jim murmured, weaving his arm around Lucas's back and pulling him up. "That enough?" he asked.

"That's good." Gillian filled the dropped, squirting small amounts into Lucas's mouth.

Jim ran his free hand down Lucas's face. "I don't think the water's doing the job. He's still too hot. Maybe we should call an ambulance?"

"Patience Jim. Just give his body some time to react. I've just come from the hospital and it's barely coping with the influx of influenza cases as it is. He's young and he's strong, so let's just wait this out for a little longer."

No sooner had had spoken, Lucas's eyelids fluttered open. Confused and disorientated, he flailed weakly, pushing Jim's hand from his chest. "Hey, kiddo, relax. It's just me. You're safe, okay. You're home."

Lucas knew the voice and while this voice hadn't always given him a reason to rejoice, it wasn't the voice of his father, or Robert. This voice had given him enough hope to believe in trust.

... Jim?"

"Yeah, kiddo." Jim moved his hand back to rest against Lucas's chest. "It's me."

"Where am I?" he whispered. He head was hot, ready to explode, but his body was cold, sending shivers up his spine.

"You're in the tub. Your temperature spiked and you collapsed. We needed to cool you down."

"Tub?"

All it took was one, single word to have Lucas's hand shoot down, past his stomach and towards his groin. It was an action that left no room for misinterpretation and an action that had Jim once again despising the hidden meaning of a bath.

"You're still covered, Lucas. You're safe." Jim chanced a glance at Simon. A cop giving into to revenge was not in the rule book, but one look at Simon, and Jim knew exactly what Banks was thinking – and God help the Wilder brothers if they ever crossed paths with either him or Simon.

"Did you make him leave?" Lucas asked, fingering the wet material of his boxers.

Jim's attention was back where it should have been. "Make who leave?" he asked.

"The man downstairs. He wanted Scott."

"Gillian?" he asked again.

"Keep talking to him," she reassured. "He'll become more coherent as his temperature goes down."

"Jim, I think he went upstairs. You gotta keep him away from Scotty ... away from Blair." Lucas struggled, trying to push himself into a sitting position.

Jim's hand was still on Lucas's chest and he spread his fingers wide, applying enough pressure to push Lucas back. "Lucas, Blair's fine. He's sound asleep in his bed. Nobody is in his room and nobody is going to touch him."

Making another attempt to pull himself from the tub, Lucas's movements stilled suddenly, his eyes coming to rest on Simon.

Simon stood, glued to the spot as Lucas pinned him with an unforgettable look. It was a look that told him Lucas still thought he was there to buy sex; there to steal the innocence and destroy the lives of two young boys. Simon averted his eyes and turned to leave the room He now knew what it felt like to be an innocent man sentenced to life.

"Simon." Lucas slumped back. Back into the bath and back against Jim's arm. "Stay with Blair. He didn't get what he paid for and he'll be back and when he does you have to tell him I'm in here. Tell him to stay away from Blair."

His message was delivered, and Lucas had no more to give. "Please," was all he had left to say.

Simon felt numb. He felt as if someone had taken a needle and plunged it into his heart, anaesthetising his emotions. He turned around and was once again pinned with an unforgettable look – a look that this time transformed him from perpetrator to saviour. "You have my word," he said, quietly. "You have my word that I'll keep Blair safe."

Heading out of the room and leaving Jim to deal with the boy's demons, Simon found himself by Blair's bedside. He stood, like a sentinel on a watch of his own. Little fingers twitched sporadically, clasping and unclasping around the beak of the yellow bird that Blair so lovingly cherished. Eyes moved beneath closed lids, trying to catch up with the dream being conjured by an overactive imagination – and then a murmur, a smile, and a sound to lighten even the heaviest of hearts. Simon remained still, content to stand and watch and, most importantly, to fulfil his promise to Lucas.

~oOo~


	5. Chapter 5

~oOo~

The cold water had done its job; Lucas's temperature was dropping. As it did, he was pulled from delirium, edging closer to reality. "Cold," he whispered roughly.

"I know." Jim looked over at Gillian. "Time to get him out?"

She nodded, pulling the plug and watching as the water spiralled noisily down the drain.

"Why is she here?" Lucas asked.

"Because you had a fever. You collapsed at the bottom on the stairs. Don't you remember?"

"I did?"

"Yep, ass flat on the floor heavier than sack of potatoes."

Gillian took hold of Lucas's wrist, placing her finger on his pulse point. "How are you feeling now?" she asked.

"Tired, sorta out of it. A little confused, I guess."

"A fever can have that effect." She let go of his wrist. "I'll leave you two alone to get organised."

The door clicked softly closed and Jim tapped Lucas's shoulder. "Come on lump, up," he said. His hands stayed where they had been for the past hour as he helped Lucas from the bath and across the room to sit on the toilet seat lid. He hesitated, not sure how much more help he should offer. The words 'whoa, head spin', negated the hesitation. He pulled a towel from the rail and started with Lucas's wet hair, working down the kid's body until all that was left was an obstacle that that not only brought the hesitation back, but put up a non-negotiable 'out of bounds' sign. Another tap to the shoulder had Lucas's attention. "Wet duds are your domain, kiddo." With a hand momentarily on Lucas's elbow, offering nothing more than a stable support, Jim held out the towel like a privacy screen. Lucas fumbled, swayed, righted himself and finally the slap of wet material hit the tiles.

"Come on, time for bed." Jim secured the towel firmly around Lucas's waist. His hand was back on Lucas's elbow and that's where he intended to leave it until the kid's head and backside were firmly acquainted with the bed.

"You okay?" Jim asked. The trip down the hall was uneventful, but by the time they'd reached the bedroom, Lucas was starting to tilt to the side like a boat left high and dry with the outgoing tide.

"Yeah." Lucas breathed out heavily. "Just need to sit."

Gillian was in the room and had stripped the bed, putting fresh linen in place. "Boxers?" she asked.

"Top drawer on the right," Jim replied.

She moved quickly, handing the boxers to Jim and roaming a professional eye over Lucas. "I'll wait outside," she said, deciding what the boy needed the most was rest.

"Jim, I really need to sit."

"Nearly there, kiddo. Let's just get these on first." Lucas's balance was growing more precarious so to get the job done in the most efficient way, Jim guided Lucas's hand to his shoulder. "You hold on while I slip these over your feet." He placed Lucas's other hand on the top of the towel to keep it in place; the 'out of bounds' sign calling the shots.

Lucas lifted one leg without incident, allowing Jim to slide the boxer shorts over his foot. The lifting of his second foot however was not so successful and he felt himself battling an incoming tide which was intent on sweeping away his balance. He grabbed hold of Jim with both hands to stop himself from falling. The towel slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground.

Lucas toppled, making Jim move from his haunches to his knees, his hands shifting to Lucas's waist. For a split second, he found himself kneeling on the ground in a position that shot the 'out of bounds' sign straight to hell. His hands were around Lucas's waist, his face inches away from the boy's naked front. For a split second he had become part of Lucas's worst nightmare.

Letting go, Jim stood, pulling Lucas's boxers up as he did. He was now only inches away from Lucas's face and common sense told him to step back, to move completely away. But his gut told him to grab hold of the kid, hold on tight and to not let go. His gut won. One hand came to rest on Lucas's shoulder, the other hand moved swiftly to the back of his neck. He tightened his grip, forcing Lucas to look at him. "That was an accident," he said, firmly. "You were falling, I reacted. It was nothing more and nothing less than that."

Time stood still.

"Lucas, I..."

"Jim," Lucas cut in. His walls were up and his bravado mustered and corralled. "It's okay. It was my fault. I was the one who fell, the one who let go of the towel. Like you said, an accident. Besides, it's only a dick. Nothing to get excited about, right?" Lucas's voice quavered. He wasn't as strong as he used to be. Happiness had taken his strength. Happiness _had_ made him fallible. He diverted his eyes. "It's only a dick," he repeated. "A pretty spectacular one, I'll admit, but still just a dick." His body betrayed his words and he began to shake. His life was a Catch 22. To have what he wanted – to have a family, a home, to find happiness – meant he'd be losing what it was that gave him life, what is was that had kept him alive all these years. "I can't..."

"No," Jim said, not letting him finish. They were back to where they started. Back at the diner. Back with Lucas's challenging his right to be happy. "What are they?" he asked, fiercely cupping both sides of Lucas's face with his hands. "Tell me what they are?"

"Memories," Lucas whispered.

"And what can't memories do?

"They can't get through anymore."

"Why can't they get through?"

"Because I won't let them."

"We won't let them, kiddo. You, me, this family won't let them."

For the second time that night, Lucas's strength waned, and even if he wanted to, he doubted he could have put up a resistance. He felt so old. At sixteen years of age he felt like he'd already lived a lifetime. Lived longer than perhaps he should have. Jim drew him in, and he folded like a pack of cards.

"You're important to me, kid." Words whispered, so close that Lucas could feel their warmth - feel them touch his soul.

On a bed, in a room in the suburbs, in a house that belonged to a family, Lucas closed his eyes. A hand brushed a soothing stroke across his brow, and soft words calmed his fears. "You're part of this family, Lucas. I don't want you to ever forget that."

It was one memory that Lucas hoped he'd never forget.

~oOo~

Securing the front door behind the Gillian Francis, Jim waited until the doctor's car headed down the driveway before turning off the porch light. Leaning against the door, he scrubbed his hand over his face. Although the clock had just chimed eleven, the night wasn't finished and his head wouldn't be hitting a pillow any time soon. First thing on the agenda was to apologise to Simon. He'd not only borne the brunt of Lucas's solicitation and accusations, but had taken a pretty hefty slug to the chin. He knew Simon would brush it off, but still, an apology was due.

Experimenting, Jim, opened his hearing, trying to locate Banks. As he did, images and sounds flashed through his mind. Sounds of Lucas pleading, asking for sex so his father wouldn't vent his anger. Begging to be taken, so his little brother could sleep peacefully. Jim's world became hazy, the sounds around him muffled, dulled. The room started to spin, and a kaleidoscope of colours appeared before his eyes. He reached out, grasping the banister to stop himself from falling and struggled to stay both conscious and upright.

In a small room at the end of the hall, a little boy stirred. A large hand came to rest on the top of his head, in an effort to lull the youngster back to sleep. A shadowy figure stood in the corner of the room, keeping watch over the youngest of his guides. _Your Sentinel must learn, Little One. He has been given a power, which he has not embraced. He must grow. You both must grow._ The shadow drew closer to the bed.

_But not tonight, Little One. Tonight you will rest. Tonight your Sentinel must travel this path alone._

Simon shivered against a sudden chill. "Why is it so cold in here?" he muttered, pulling up the blankets to cover Blair's chin. "Remind me to talk to your dad about the heating, Squirt," he said, softly.

In another corner of the room, a jaguar appeared. It paced the length of the small room, turning to snarl at the Chopec spirit.

_"You will not interfere, Mischi Misi."_

The cat stood its ground, giving Incacha a superior glare, before fading away.

_I think that perhaps the animal spirits do need to be leashed, Little One._ Incacha leaned down, closer to Blair. Till we meet again.

~oOo~

The large feline bounded down the stairs in a single leap, materializing fully by the time it reached the bottom. It pounced on Jim, knocking him to the ground. The sentinel came back to reality the same way he'd landed on the floor – with a thud. The gentle light that bathed the room was as intense as staring directly into the sun. The crackling sound of the fire in the next room roared through his skull like firestorm, blazing its way across the forest. Jim shut his eyes and clamped his hands hard over his ears.

All the while, the black jaguar kneaded his chest, its claws extending and retracting against his sweater. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe and just when he thought he was going to pass out, a sense of calm descended. Colours filtered back to normal, one by one beneath his closed lids. His hearing levelled out, slowly and methodically. He cracked open his eyes to be greeted by the reason for the heavy feeling on his chest.

"You know what, cat?" he wheezed. "I think I'm beginning to like you." Bagheera purred, rubbing its large head against his chin. "Now hang on, don't get carried away," Jim breathed, pushing it away, "I said, 'beginning to like'. It doesn't necessarily mean I do like you." He attempted to sit up. "You wouldn't care to move, would you? I mean you're not exactly a lightweight here, Sylvester." Jim rubbed his chest. "You know, I think I liked it better when I couldn't feel you." As he used the stair railing to pull himself to his feet, the cat disappeared. "I guess all is right with the world," he mused. Taking a shallow breath and testing his ribs, he dismissed what had just happened and trudged up the stairs.

The sentinel, once again, had ignored what the spirit world was trying to tell him.

He had once again closed his eyes to what he was meant to see.

~oOo~

"Hey!" Jim exclaimed quietly, locating Simon in Blair's bedroom. "You alright?"

Simon spoke, never once diverting his gaze. "He laughed."

Jim smiled, moving closer to the bed. "I know, he does that a lot."

"You're a lucky man, Jim." Simon's eyes never left Blair's face. "I miss this."

Jim stayed silent, giving Simon the room to talk.

"I used to watch Daryl sleep, you know. In fact, I probably spent more time with him when he was asleep than while he was awake. I never seemed to make it home before bedtime. The job, well, you know what it's like. Before I even knew it, my baby was a little boy ... and then he was gone. Every second weekend, Jim. That's no way to have a relationship with your kids. I hardly know him. I hardly know my own son."

"Daryl loves you, Simon. You know that."

"I could have done better by him. I should have done better."

Simon pulled himself from the armchair. "Don't make the same mistake I did, Jim. Cherish every moment, because moments have a habit of disappearing before your very eyes."

Two men stood silently, shoulder to shoulder, both reflecting on the mistakes made in their lives. One commiserating for the mistake of not giving time to the one he loved the most. The other man rejoicing in his mistake – his greatest mistake – his son.

Blair's lips twitched, a distinctive laugh escaping again, causing both men to smile. "He's gonna make it, you know."

"I know," Jim whispered.

"I only hope that Lucas can laugh one day."

"He will," Jim assured. "You just wait and see." He slapped Simon on the back. "How's the chin?"

Simon moved his jaw from side to side. "Sore. That kid sure packs a wallop."

"You don't have to tell me. Hey, I'll tell you what. Once he's up and on his feet, why don't I hold him down and you can beat him up?"

Simon huffed at Jim's suggestion. "Like you'd be able to hold that boy down for more than a couple of minutes."

Jim grinned. "You're probably right. But you tell Lucas I said that and I'll deny every word."

"Remember those days, Jim? When we were young and invincible?"

"You suggesting we're getting old, Simon?"

"Not old, just mellow."

Jim looped his arm around Simon's shoulder. "Well come on, my mellow friend, coffee's hot and I've got a feeling it's gonna be a long night."

Before following Jim out of the room, Simon bent down and placed a kiss on Blair's head. "Sweet dreams, Squirt."

~oOo~

Jim predication rang true. Lucas's temperature was all over the place. One minute he was burning up, mumbling incoherently and the next he was shivering, finding it impossible to get warm. Jim sat vigil, bathing scorching skin until it cooled and adding blankets until the cycle started again.

"Lucas?" Jim peeled back a heavy layer of blankets. Lucas's temperature was on the rise again, but there was more. He was also in pain. "What's wrong?"

Lucas kicked off the rest of the blankets and curled his six-foot frame into a ball, making him look impossibly small; making him look impossibly alone. "My back... my scar."

Tylenol was no longer an option. He'd already doped the kid up to his back teeth. "Just hang in there, kiddo, I'll go get the heating pad."

At the room at the end of the hall, Blair awoke. There was something wrong – something wrong with Lucas. He kicked back the covers and rolled out of bed. He didn't bother with his slippers as he padded quietly into the hall. First, he peeked into his father's room, only to find it empty, the bed still made. He moved down the hall to the spare room. Uncle Simon was snoring softly. His last stop was Lucas's room. This was the reason why he was awake.

Lucas was curled up in the middle of the bed, shivering. "Lucas, what wrong?" Blair clambered up onto the bed, and pulled up the blanket. "Are you hu't?"

"My back." Lucas didn't open his eyes and appeared to be trying to breathe the pain away.

Being as careful as he could, Blair climbed over Lucas, and crawled under the blanket, wrapping his arm as far as it would go around Lucas's waist.

The reaction was instantaneous – like a shot of happy gas without the side effects. Lucas could feel the pressure of Blair against his back and, like a soothing balm being massaged into stressed muscles, the pain ebbed away. By the time Jim made his way back to the room, Lucas was on the edge of sleep, and so was Blair. "You know guys, I'd really love it if someone would fill me in on what's going on around here." Jim moved to the other side of the queen-sized bed, and sat down on the mattress. "My guess is you know more than you let on, Munchkin," he said, running his fingers through his sleeping son's hair.

Beyond dog-tired, Jim plumped up a pillow and half lay, half sat, next to Blair. He couldn't remember closing his eyes, but the moment he did, he was asleep. His boys, both his boys, were safe; for the time being, that was all that mattered.

~oOo~


	6. Chapter 6

~oOo~

Fit and healthy and raring to go, Jessie had come back to save the day. With only five days until Christmas, Jim couldn't take any more time off work. He'd managed to wangle the week off over Christmas, and it was impossible to stretch this out. Jessie insisted on nursing Lucas back to health, and her love and attention, plus a few old-fashioned remedies, seemed to be doing the trick.

"Daddy's home." Blair scooted down from the stool in the kitchen. He was flourishing with all the extra attention he was getting from Jessie. Together they had made Christmas decorations for the house, baked fruitcake and Christmas pudding for Christmas Day, and had wrapped up all of the presents. Not including the ones Santa was bringing, of course.

"Jessie, Jessie, Joel is here," he said, peeking out the living room window. "Are you staying for dinneh?" he asked excitedly.

"Well, I know you three men have big appetites, but I don't think you'll be able to eat all of that roast lamb and potatoes by yourself."

"Joel!" Blair exclaimed, crashing into Joel's legs the moment the door from the garage opened.

"Hey, short stuff," Joel laughed, swinging Blair into his arms. "You know, I think your dad better get you out of that habit before you get any taller."

Blair scrunched up his nose in confusion.

"Maybe you should start wearing some protection," Jim teased, grabbing at Blair. "Where's my cuddle, Munchkin?"

"Now, now, Jim, don't be greedy." Joel smacked at Jim's hands. "Adopted grandfathers have rights, too, you know."

Joel smothered Blair in a huge bear hug. "You're good enough to eat," he said, a raspberry landing on Blair's forehead.

Blair squirmed away. Hugs were good, but he had some important news to relay. "Jessie and I made Christmas cake today. It got a penny in it and lots and lots of brandy. But Jessie sayed we won't get drunked."

Joel gave his wife a quick wink. "You've been cooking your sinful Christmas cake, I hear."

"Like you'd have it any other way, my dear," she answered.

"You've got that right, woman."

Jessie whipped the kitchen towel across Joel's backside. "Don't you 'woman' me, old man," she admonished playfully.

"Thanks for taking care of the boys today, Jess," Jim said, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, if it means getting a kiss from a handsome man, I'd do it every day."

Joel let Blair drop to the ground. "Back to the stove with you, woman. I'm a hungry man."

"Joel Taggart, you could go for a month without food, and you'd still survive," she retorted.

Jim ran his fingers through Blair's hair. "Where's Lucas?"

"He on the sofa. He asleep again." Blair's voice sounded somewhat despondent.

" I hope you haven't been annoying him, Chief. He needs all the sleep he can get if he's going to get better."

"I know, and that what Jessie sayed. But he not even stayed awake when we watched The Lion King, Daddy, and that his favourite."

"Patience, Junior. You don't want Lucas to be still sick on Christmas Day, do you?"

Blair shook his head. "Nope, 'cause then he won't be able to play with all the presents Santa brings him."

"That's right." Jim tapped Blair on the head, lost in thought. He'd been in a quandary as to what to buy Lucas for Christmas. While it was important to him to make Lucas feel just as much as part of the family as Blair, he didn't want to overdo it. Lucas was still uncomfortable with the fact that he was being financially supported and had even tossed around the idea of quitting school to take up a fulltime job. The idea was nipped in the bud the moment it left the kid's mouth, but Jim agreed that once Lucas was more settled with school and his studies, he would consider the idea of a part-time job. Still, stocking shelves at the local supermarket wouldn't pay that much, and certainly wouldn't bridge the financial gap Lucas was so worried about.

The theme from 'I Dream of Jeanie' snapped Jim back from his reverie and he found himself standing by the sofa watching Lucas sleep.

"I can shaked him awake," Blair said, his hand already on Lucas's shoulder.

Before Jim could answer, 'no', Lucas's eyes shot open and he pushed himself off the mound of pillows supporting his back.

"Hey," Jim said, his hand replacing Blair's. "It's just us." He left his hand where it was until Lucas got his bearings. "Dinner's nearly ready. You up to sitting at the table, or would you rather me make you up a plate for in here?"

Lucas shifted his legs, making room for Jim to sit. "Food and sofa. Now there's two words you don't usually hear without a 'no' in front."

"So shoot me. I'm in a good mood." Blair was up on the couch, squeezing in next to Lucas and Jim took a seat next to Blair. "You're looking slightly more human today," he commented. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Tired still, but good."

"How's the cough?"

"Good too."

Blair's head whipped from side to side. "That not true, Lucas, you coughed up all spit today." He bounced, excited to share his news. "It was gween, Daddy!"

Lucas took Blair by the elbows and swung him to the floor, trapping within his legs. "My own personal little lie detector."

"I not lie." Blair planted both his feet on the ground and wiggled out from between Lucas's knees. In a flash he was headed back to the kitchen and back to tell Jessie what Lucas had said.

"Hey," yelled Lucas after him. "You still love me?"

Blair stopped in his tracks. Lucas was his brother, and he could never be really mad at this brother. He turned back, giving Lucas one of his brilliant smiles. "All-a-time," he said.

"I guess I should know better," Lucas said, as Blair skipped out of the room. "Between a sentinel and a three-year-old, I've got no hope."

Jim patted Lucas's knee. "Nope, no hope at all."

~oOo~

He dipped his feet into the river, upsetting the natural flow. The water swirled around his legs before continuing its journey downstream. The river was cold, so cold that he could no longer feel his toes, but it did nothing to cool him down. He was hot, too hot. His chest felt heavy, the air around him stifling and he had trouble drawing air into his lungs. The surface of the water broke, erupting like a sulphur pool and long fingers reached out, curling around his ankle. He fought, but the grip was too strong. His body slid on the wet grass, his fingers clawed at the earth. The ground offered nothing to save him. He was dragged down into the frigid depths. His lungs no longer drew in air. He struggled hard, but he was losing the fight. He was dying.

As soon as his ordeal had begun, it ended. The iron-like hold on his ankle was released and he was propelled upwards; up towards the air, up towards life. He broke the surface, gasping. He was no longer in the river. His prison was a long, tiled room. The glare of the light as it bounced off the stark white floor made him squint. A voice behind him caused him to swing around. _"I told you not to get any fucking water on the floor, didn't I?"_ A child whimpered. _"Don't start snivelling, you little bastard."_ A hand came down and latched onto the child's thin arm. It shook the small boy violently. _"Who's gonna clean this up?"_ The hand released its grip and the child fell backward, hitting his head on the side of the bathtub. _"Me, that's who. I'm the only one who does anything around here. You and your mother ain't worth a pile of shit."_ The child let out a strangled sob. _"I'm warning you, Blairboy. You start crying on me and I'll give you a beating you won't forget."_

"Blair," he mouthed. "Oh god, Blair." He tried to move forward, but his feet were planted. "Get away from him!" he tried to shout. His mouth formed the words, but no sound came out. "Get away! You touch him and I'll kill you. I swear I'll kill you." His feet found their grip on the tiles and he rushed forward, but the faster he moved, the further away the child shifted. He broke into a run, but he couldn't close the distance. Blair was moving further and further out of his reach. The faceless figure standing over the bathtub turned to look at him. _"You're too late, boy,"_it snarled. _"He's mine. Blairboy has always belonged to me."_ The figure grabbed the child by the hair and shoved him down into the cold water. A scream filled the room, becoming muffled as the water filled the child's mouth, flooding his tiny lungs.

He fell to the ground, his knees smashing against the hard tiles, "No," he screamed. "No... please, no." The splashing stopped, the struggling had ceased. The figure looked up, but this time it was no longer faceless. It was the face his nightmares. "Robert?" he choked out. Dark eyes smiled at him. _"You're mine, Lucas. You'll always belong to me."_ It reached into the tub and lifted up the cold, lifeless body of the small child. _"And so will he."_ The figure approached, laying the cold, naked body of the child in his arms. He hugged the tiny body fiercely to his chest. "Please breathe... please breathe," he pleaded. The figure knelt in front of him. _"You're too late, Lucas."_ It ran its cold, clammy fingers through his hair. _"Just like you were too late to save your brother."_ It pulled his head forward and pressed its lips to his. _"And just like you're too late for Blair."_ It plunged its tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply. He choked on the kiss as it cut off his airway. His heart pounded and his chest burned. He couldn't breathe. He was dying.

~oOo~

Lucas felt his body being lifted. There was nothing he could do to stop it. It was out of his control. His head landed against a solid mass and before he knew it his face was pushed upward and the taste of plastic filled his mouth. "Deep breath," a voice commanded. He complied with the order, sucking in deeply and trying to fill his lungs. A bitter tang flooded over his taste buds and he tried to remove the tube with his tongue. "No," the voice said. "Another breath. Take another breath, kiddo." Another puff of air was forced into his lungs. A hand rubbed his back, small circles giving comfort. "I saw him." Lucas heard himself say. "I saw Robert. He killed Blair. I couldn't help him... I couldn't save him."

The circular motions on his back became more intense. Jim's voice sounded over the wheeze of his lungs as they struggled to take in oxygen. "It was only a dream," Jim's words comforted. "Blair's fine. He's fine."

Lucas pushed himself back. It wasn't a dream. It was too real, too vivid, too distressing to be just a dream. "No. I held him in my arms. He was so cold, Jim ... so cold."

"Lucas, listen to me." Jim latched on to Lucas's shoulders. "It was just a bad dream. It wasn't real. Blair's gone Christmas shopping with Joel and Jessie. He's only just left. Nothing has happened to him. He's safe."

Lucas shook his head, unconvinced. "No! You didn't see what I saw. You didn't feel what I felt." Lucas began to move sideways in attempt to plant his feet on the floor. "He needs protecting. The animal spirits. You need to send them. They need to be with him."

Jim shoved Lucas's legs back onto the bed.

"They're already with him, Lucas. You know those two. They're always tagging along after him." As much as he complained about having the jaguar and wolf pup around the house all the time, he was comforted by the fact that the pair very rarely let his son out of their sight.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Jim brushed Lucas's sweaty hair off his brow and out of his eyes. "That must have been some dream you had. Feel like sharing?"

Lucas shrugged. He diverted his eyes, suddenly feeling under scrutiny.

When it came to clamming up, Lucas had the ability to take the term to a whole new level. Jim let the subject drop, as he always did, turning his attention away from Lucas's emotional state and back to his physical.

Bronchitis had been the final diagnosis and it had knocked Lucas around pretty badly. A nebuliser had been prescribed to help open his distressed airways and, combined with various antibiotics and a homemade chest-rub, the kid's body was starting to win the battle over the ailment. This attack had been his first in two days.

Leaning past Lucas, Jim adjusted two pillows against the headboard and pushed Lucas back. He picked up the bottle of chest-rub from the bedside table. "You wanna lift up your shirt?"

"No," Lucas stated. "That stuff stinks worse than a dead cat."

"Granted, but you say that in front of Jessie and that's how you just might end up, kid. She went to a lot of trouble to concoct this for you."

"Concoct is exactly the right word," Lucas grumbled, lifting up his t-shirt.

Jim rubbed his hands together, attempting to warm them before pouring Jessie's concoction onto his palms. He touched Lucas's chest and began working the muscles. Lucas scrunched his nose and Jim smiled. The kid reminded him of Blair. The smile fell from his face. "When did you have broken ribs?" he asked, feeling a definite misalignment of bones as his hands worked across Lucas's ribcage.

"A while back," Lucas answered with a casual note.

"And how did it happen?"

"Wasn't quick enough to move."

"Wasn't quick enough to move away from what?"

Lucas just shrugged.

"You sure you don't have mollusc somewhere in your bloodline?" Jim muttered. "You define the word 'clam'." He pulled down Lucas's shirt. "You hungry?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

This time Jim laughed, cuffing Lucas lightly across the top of the head. "I see that private school is doing amazing things for your vocabulary." He got to his feet. "There's an old classic on the movie channel if you're up to it. 'Miracle on Thirty-Fourth Street'."

"Sounds cool... kinda Christmassy."

"Don't tell me you've never seen it?" Jim suddenly regretted his words. "How 'bout I go rustle up some soup and sandwiches and meet you downstairs. If you promise to be a good little boy, I might even let you eat in the living room."

"How did you know I had broken ribs?" Lucas asked before Jim disappeared out the door.

"I could feel it." It was now his turn to be succinct.

"Man do you know how totally awesome that is?"

Jim tapped the doorframe lightly. "Yeah, totally." The tone of his voice didn't match his words. "I'll see you downstairs."

Lucas threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat for a moment, pulling in a few more deep breaths and trying to rid himself of an uneasy feeling. The nightmare was still there, in the forefront of him mind. It hadn't faded into the background like dreams normally do, making you press to remember the details. This dream, this nightmare was still vivid and still very real. Now up on his feet, Lucas made his way to the bathroom and ran his mouth under the faucet, trying to rid his tongue of a strong peppermint taste. _Peppermint . . .Robert._ His memory bridged the gap and he blanched, resisting the urge to throw up. The taste – it was the taste of his uncle... a taste he knew far too well.

~oOo~


	7. Chapter 7

~oOo~

Blair sat in his bedroom, quietly turning the pages of a new book that Uncle Simon had bought for him when he was sick. Rahma sat close by his side, chewing a decent sized hole in a sock he'd found under the bed. He'd tried earlier to get the pup to let go, without success, so he gave up; he'd just put it back under the bed when Rahma was finished. His dad would never find it and would never see the big hole that had been chewed in the end.

Engrossed in his book, Blair flipped over the page and stopped, his eyes lingering on a picture that suddenly disturbed him. "Why is Santa in the little boy's room?" he asked, showing the picture to the pup. Rahma, of course didn't answer, just licked his face before going back to the task of total sock annihilation.

Blair slammed the book shut quickly as if trying to trap Santa between the pages. "I not want Santa to come in my room." Old fears resurfaced and he looked uneasily toward the door, just in case. Grabbing the book and a box of crayons, he opened the door of his closet. Pushing some toys out of the way, he squirmed back into the corner, as far as he could go. Opening the book with a slight feeling of trepidation, he upended the box, shaking the crayons onto the floor. "I not want you come to my house." He picked up the black crayon and started to erase Santa from the page. Harder and harder he pressed, until Santa was covered. A tear dribbled down his cheek, landing on the page, smearing the black mess. He had been so looking forward to Christmas, but now he was just scared. He couldn't let Santa come, he wouldn't. He thought hard for a moment, trying to work out how to stop Santa. He pulled Rahma onto his knee and buried his face in the pup's fur. _I need to be bad,_ was his solution. Naughty enough for Santa to take his name off the list. Daddy would be cross, but he would still love him, wouldn't he? His daddy had told him that he would never give him away, no matter how naughty he was. With his arms tightly around the wolf pup's neck, he used his sleeve to wipe his nose. But if he was bad enough for Santa to hate him, then maybe his daddy would, too.

Tucked away in the corner of his closet, Blair cried himself to sleep. His memories and Rahma his only company.

~oOo~

Jim pushed open the door with his foot, dumping the load of firewood in the basket by the wall. The house was silent and his curiosity piqued. It was unusual not to hear any sound coming from the three-year-old. Blair was a child who could easily keep himself occupied, but he never did so quietly. Even when playing by himself, he still chattered, sang songs, or generally made a noise. Peace and quiet was something that only occurred after seven o'clock, when Blair was tucked snugly in bed. Brushing off a few twigs that had stuck to his sweater, Jim made his way through the kitchen and into the living room. Lucas was lying on the sofa, reading. "You seen Blair?" he asked.

Lucas's attention never left his book. "He was here a while ago. I think he went up to his room to get a book."

Jim bounded up the stairs. The closer he got to Blair's room, the clearer the child's heart became. "Hey, Munchkin, what are you up to?" he asked, pushing through the door. Blair was not in plain sight, but it didn't take him long to find him. He opened the wardrobe door. Tucked in the back, partly obscured by soft toys, Blair was curled into a ball, Rahma snuggling into the warmth of his body. "Guess you're not too old for nap time after all," Jim whispered, pushing away the toys. He shooed away the pup, who disappeared immediately and scooped Blair up. A crayon fell from Blair's hand, landing with a soft thud onto a book Blair had been reading.

Jim waited for Blair to sleepily shift to his side before he pulled up the covers. He made his way back to the wardrobe, intent on picking up the rest of the crayons before they stained the carpet. The book that Blair had been reading was open and he stared at the page, taking a few seconds to comprehend what he was seeing. Of all of the toys Blair had, his books were his treasure. Jim flipped through the rest of the book before returning to the only page Blair had destroyed. He stared intently, as if willing the book to tell its tale of mishap. Unfortunately the book remained silent, giving away no clues. Whatever the reason, it wouldn't come until Blair woke up.

~oOo~

The minute Blair opened his eyes he knew what he needed to do. Throwing back the covers, he picked up the box of crayons, which were now sitting neatly on his desk. Padding quietly, he snuck into his father's room. Taking out his crayons, he started to scribble. There was no drawing, no art, just frantic back and forth movements until the wall under the window was smeared with a multi-colour layer of crayon. "Stay away from my house," Blair said with determination. With no time to waste, he pushed the crayons back through the lid, heading for his next target; Lucas's room.

~oOo~

"Blair!" He was no longer in his room and from the vacant sounds of all things Blair, he was nowhere on the top floor either. "What the hell has gotten into you?" Jim said, following a single crayon line that led from this room, down the hall, and stopping just short of Lucas's door.

"Lucas, have you seen Blair?" The door was wide open and Lucas was sitting on his bed. A photograph – Lucas's only photograph – was the teenager's hands... and those hands were shaking.

Just like the wall in his room, the photograph was covered with scribble, both faces erased under a layer of crayon.

"Blair!" There was anger in Jim's voice now and he didn't try to mask it. He plucked the photo from Lucas's hand and stormed from the room. Anger had erased his reasoning; the question of why Blair would have done such a thing had become consumed in the need to seek justice for Lucas.

~oOo~

Blair's whole body jumped when he heard his name and a familiar sensation raced through his body. "It not Tom," he told himself, trying hard to erase an image that flashed though his mind. _A hand slapped his face, hard. His pants were pulled roughly down and he was dragged over a knee. His mother sat huddled in the corner, not moving. Slaps rained down on his bare backside, stinging his skin and making him cry. He lost control of his bladder. He didn't remember anything after that._

The little boy's breath hitched as the memory threatened to consume him. "No," he said loudly, trying to convince himself. "It not Tom, it's Daddy ... Daddy won't hit me. He promise. Daddy not neveh hu't me."

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his body now visibly shaking with the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Blair, you care to tell me why you did this?"

His daddy was there, towering over him. His daddy was so big. Tom was so big.

"You know how important this photo is to Lucas."

He couldn't answer. Being scared made his words disappear. Tom called him stupid, but he wasn't stupid, just too scared to find his words.

"Well?" Jim crossed his arms. "I'm waiting for an answer Blair."

The look on his son's face – the look that was being directed at him – tore Jim's anger to shreds, making way for clarity to take its place. This was Blair he was towering over and Blair he was intimidating - and the devil send him straight to hell if his son even remotely associated him with danger.

Immediately Jim lowered everything. His voice, his height and his arms to his side. He knelt down, his eyes now level with Blair's. "Munchkin, I'm sorry I shouted," he said softly and calmly. He held out his arms, gesturing for Blair to come to him. "And I'm sorry if I sounded angry."

Wary of his father's sudden movement, Blair instinctively backed up. His back hit the sideboard and a china plate toppled off its stand, smashing to the ground.

The plate lay, smashed at Blair's feet and the look on the child's face told a haunting tale, while Lucas's told another.

Lucas moved quickly, placing himself in front of Blair. Jim wasn't a threat, he knew that, but knowing couldn't stop him doing what he was instinctively compelled to do. "Jim, it doesn't matter. It's not important. He didn't know what he was doing."

_Abuse._ One abused child protecting another and the reality was that _abused _was who these boys were – it was what they were. "But it's not me," Jim whispered so soft, Lucas didn't hear a word. _I am not an abuser._ "Lucas you know that I'm not going to lay one single finger on him, don't you?"

"I know." Lucas's eyes locked with Jim, but still, he stood his ground.

Jim moved from his haunches and sat down on the floor. "Blair, I'm not angry, sweetheart, and you know I would never hurt you." He opened his arms again. "Can you come to Daddy ... will you come to, Daddy, Munchkin?"

Slowly but surely, Blair peeked out from behind Lucas. He lifted his hand, brushing Lucas's fingers. "You not hit me?"

It wasn't just Blair's words that made Jim's heart break, but his actions. Blair trusting Lucas to protect him equated to nothing more than a good thing, but Blair wasn't just doing that. Blair was trusting Lucas to protect him from his father. In the recess of his son's mind, a father, either symbolic or real, was ultimately tarred with the same brush. To Blair, a father figure equalled abuse.

"It's not me," Jim said again, this time more loudly. If it took him until he drew his last breath, he would prove to Blair that it wasn't him. "Do you think Daddy would ever hit you, Blair?" he asked. "Do you think Daddy would ever break his promise?"

Having Lucas by his side settled Blair's anxiety. "No," he finally replied, shaking his head from side to side. Rational thinking returned to Blair's world and he moved towards Jim, diving into his arms. "I sorry, Daddy. I sorry I was bad."

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay baby, it's okay." Jim wrapped Blair his arms and buried his nose in his hair. "It's all gonna be okay."

"No!" Blair pushed back, making Jim release his hold. "No, it not okay. I need to be bad, Daddy. I need to be bad." Mucus now ran from Blair's nose and tears smeared his face. "I not want him to come, Daddy. I not want him in my room. He won't come if I bad."

"Blair, sweetheart, nobody will come into your room. I won't let them." Blair was standing between Jim's legs, while Lucas now sat on the floor directly behind him.

"Yes he will!" Blair stamped his foot, edging closer to hysterics.

"Who, Blair, who will come?" Jim asked. He had a feeling Blair wasn't talking about Tom.

"Santa," Blair sobbed. "He will come into my room. You not stop him, Daddy 'cause he magic." Blair moved back, bumping into Lucas. "I not want him to come, Daddy." His voice hiccupped, heavy sobs making it more and more incoherent. "I not want him to pull my pants down."

Jim and Lucas reacted at the exact same moment. Lucas wrapped his arms around Blair from behind and Jim moved forward, engulfing not only his son in his arms, but Lucas as well.

Incacha stood, unseen. The triangle had started to form. The Sentinel, aided by the Guardian stood guard to protect that which was most precious. They stood to protect the Guide.

~oOo~

Jim sat watching his son. Busy little fingers were delving deep into an empty mug of hot chocolate, scooping out the gooey remains of a marshmallow. An occasional shudder still ran through the little boy's body, his eyes still puffy and red from crying. He smiled up at his father; traces of dried tears had left their mark on his face. "It all gone now," Blair stated, licking the sticky mess off his fingers. He clambered down from the chair, his work in the kitchen complete, another part of the house now needing his attention.

"Hold up a minute there, partner," Jim said, catching Blair before he could make an escape. "I think you and I need to have a little talk." Jim scooped Blair up in his arms and seated him on the kitchen table. He moved his chair closer, Blair's legs now bumping against his chest.

"I sayed I was sorry," Blair said quietly.

"I know you did, Chief. That's not what I want to talk to you about."

"It not?"

"Well, maybe a little bit, but what I really wanted to talk to you about is you coming to me when you have a problem, and not worrying about things all by yourself. Why didn't you tell me you were scared of Santa?"

Blair hesitated. "'Cause then you would know'd."

"Know what, Munchkin?"

"Know'd about Tom."

"Why don't you want me to know about Tom?" Jim pushed, gently.

"'Cause you will get sad about it." Blair answered quietly.

"Blair it's not your job to protect me. That's my job. It's what fathers do. I already know what Tom did to you, Chief; you don't have to protect me any longer."

"How come you not take me away from Tom, Daddy?" Blair asked. "How come you not stop him when he hu't me?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "When Tom comed into my room, I cwied and cwied. Mama wouldn't come. Why didn't you come, Daddy?"

From those few words, Jim realised that Blair would never stop breaking his heart. The guilt of not protecting his son was one he would carry around for the rest of his life. He would never forgive himself for letting his little boy suffer the way he had. He took a deep breath. It was only way he could centre himself and stop his voice from breaking. "Chief, remember when I told you that babies are made when two people love each other?'

"Ah-ha," Blair replied, swiping again at his runny nose.

Jim grabbed a tissue from the box on the table. "Well, sometimes a baby is made and the daddy doesn't always know. Sometimes the mother and father don't love each other and they go their separate ways."

"You and Mama not loved each other?"

"No baby, we didn't. And the sad thing about this is that I didn't even know about you. I didn't know I had a son until your mama left you at my door. You have to believe me, Munchkin; if I'd had any idea about you, I would have come. I would have been there for you. I promise with all my heart and soul, I would have been there for you."

Blair reached over and stroked his father's cheek. Jim took hold of the perfect, tiny hand and pressed a kiss firmly into the palm. "I love you more than life itself, kiddo. Do you understand that?"

Blair nodded. He did understand. Nobody had ever loved him as much as his father did.

Jim squeezed Blair's hand gently. "Good, because there is something else I want to talk to you about. It's about your mother, Blair. Uncle Simon showed me a picture you drew for your mama. He told me you wanted to go and see her."

Blair nodded his head. "I not tell you, 'cause I think you still mad at Mama."

"To be honest with you, Blair, yes, I am still mad at your mother, but worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Why you afraid of Mama?" Blair asked. "You much biggeh than her."

"I'm afraid, Blair that your mama will try and take you away and that I'll never see you again. What I'm afraid of is losing you."

Blair put out his arms to be lifted off the table. Jim complied, and Blair snuggled into his body. "You not have to be afraid, daddy, we got Lucas now."

"Lucas?"

"Ah-ha," Blair nodded, rubbing his check against his father's chest. "Lucas not let anything happen to me. Incacha sayed so. And he sayed that Bagheera visit mama. Incacha say that Bagheera goes so mama not be lonely, but I think he go 'cause he want to see where she is."

Jim pushed Blair back. "When were you talking to Incacha?"

"I talk to him all the time. He come and see me. Sometimes he bring the boy."

"What boy?" Jim asked.

"The boy in Lucas's pictuh."

_Holy shit._ Jim pushed Blair back. "Blair, you haven't told Lucas this, have you?"

"Nope, Incacha say I not 'llowed. I have to keep it a secret. Incacha says that these things cannot be 'vealed until the time is right. He sayed that Lucas not ready."

"Damn you Incacha," Jim muttered.

"Daddy, can I make a card fo' Mama for Chwistmas? I can ask the mailman to take it to her."

Jim just nodded, trying to get his head around what Blair had just revealed

"We finished our talk now?" Blair asked, now squirming to get down. "Can I go play?"

Jim lightly kissed Blair on the top of his head. "Sure, Munchkin. Why don't you go and get out your blocks? Maybe we can build something together."

"Way cool." Blair wriggled until his feet hit the ground. "Daddy," he said. "Can I sleep in your bed when Santa comes?"

"Of course you can, Chief. You only ever have to ask."

With Blair no longer in the room, Jim turned his attention skyward. "Incacha, I know you can hear me, so I'll say this just once. You better let me know what's going on, because if you're planning anything that is remotely connected with either one of those boys, you better think twice. If you put us through another one of your so called tests, or 'paths to our destiny', or any other of your Indian witchcraft shit, I swear I'll kick your butt from here to the deepest jungles of Peru."

~oOo~

On the far side of the kitchen, the Chopec warrior stood, unseen. _Then you must learn, Sentinel,_ he said, unheard. _A war is waging, Enqueri and I cannot fight it alone._

~oOo~

Lucas walked down the stairwell, which led from the kitchen to the basement. A washing machine and dryer lined one wall, with the remaining space having been converted into a personal gymnasium. A punching bag strained on its chain, violent punches causing it to swing madly back and forth. He silently moved to capture the bag, holding it steady, the weight of his body keeping it in place as the punches continued.

Jim wiped the sweat from his brow, exhausted both physically and emotionally.

"He's getting better, Jim," Lucas said quietly. "Chances are, when he's older, he won't even remember what happened to him."

"Explain it to me, Lucas," Jim said, taking hold of the other side of the bag. "Explain to me how a parent could let somebody hurt their child. Explain to me how Naomi could ignore what that bastard was doing to her son? Explain to me," he said angrily, "how she could sit there while he tortured her baby. A broken arm, fractured ribs, cigarette burns." He jabbed another hard punch into the bag. "How many times did that prick share a bed with my son? How many times did he...?" Jim still couldn't bring himself to say the word. He swung wildly, taking out his rage and anger on the punching bag – a bag that was a stand-in for Tom Walsh.

Finally mentally exhausted and physically spent, Jim steadied the bag, his head coming to rest on its beaten leather exterior. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean for you to see any of that."

Lucas released his grip on the bag and moved to stand next to Jim. "When Incacha killed Tom, did he make him suffer?"

Jim pushed back off the bag. The expression in his eyes gave Lucas his answer.

Satisfied, Lucas picked up a towel that had been flung over the weight set and handed it to Jim. "Blair will be wondering where I've got to." He made his way across to the stairs. "Jim, if you ever need to talk..." Lucas turned around. "I understand how Blair feels. Maybe I can help?"

With the towel now around his shoulders, Jim walked over to Lucas. He wrapped his arm around the teenager's neck, pulling him close. "Come on, let's go and see what the brat's up to."

Lucas's arm snaked briefly around Jim's waist as they trudged up the stairs. "Blair and I made dessert, if you're interested in some chocolate pudding."

"And of course you cleaned up the mess?"

Lucas smiled. "Of course." He pulled away, taking the last few stairs two at a time.

"Not," he laughed, ducking through the doorway.

By the time Jim made his way up the stairs and into the living room, Blair and Lucas appeared to have been spellbound by the cartoon channel. Lucas was slouched lengthways on the sofa, with Blair snuggled up against him. They laughed simultaneous at Wylie Coyote and the ever falling boulder. Jim bent down and placed a kiss on his Blair's head. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Good idea, you stink," Lucas said, trying to look around Jim who was blocking the view of the television.

Jim lightly cuffed the Lucas across the top of the head. "Two words," he said. "Kitchen duty, and it better be sparkling by the time I'm finished."

With his eyes still trained on the TV, Blair said, "That more than two wo'ds, Daddy."

Jim groaned, leaving the room and the boys to their cartoon.

~oOo~


	8. Chapter 8

~oOo~

Ellison pulled into the parking lot outside Blair's day care centre. "Come on, come on," he hissed impatiently. He'd made a mad dash from work to reach the centre by five. Being only two days before Christmas, the traffic on the road was a nightmare. He spotted a vacant spot toward the back and floored the accelerator. He was not going to miss out on the parking space; the event inside the centre was far too important. Screeching to a halt, he jumped out of the truck and ran toward the entrance.

Blair's classroom was abuzz with excitement. Colourful Christmas decorations adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling. A cardboard Christmas tree stood in the corner, its branches sagging under the weight of the children's artwork. Jim pushed his way through a crowd of parents and spotted his 'family', proudly sitting in the front row. He took a seat next to Lucas. "Did I miss anything?" he asked anxiously.

"Nope, the rug rats are still out the back."

"Hey Joel ... Jessie. Thanks for getting Blair ready and picking up Lucas."

Jessie patted his knee. "You should see him, Jim. He looks absolutely gorgeous!" Jessie's face was shining with pride. There was no mistaking the fact that Blair was the joy of her life. She was Blair's surrogate grandmother and played an important part in his upbringing. Blair lived in a house full of men, so Jessie's role in the youngster's life was made even more significant. Having Jessie around gave Blair the experience of a female influence and, being retired, she had more than enough time to do the little, everyday things with Blair that he would have otherwise missed out on. "Here they come, here they come," she said, barely containing her excitement as the side door opened.

A line of very hyperactive three-year-olds entered the classroom. Jim spotted Blair immediately and Jessie was right, his son was gorgeous. He knew that every parent probably thought their kids were cute, even if they were butt-ugly, but Blair was different. He was truly a stunning child. His face, which now always seemed to shine with mischief and life, was framed by a mass of beautiful chestnut curls. Add to that, a pair of intelligent, deep blue eyes and a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts, and you had the makings of one good-looking kid.

Jim smiled at the youngster as Blair gave him an enthusiastic wave. He was dressed in stripped stockings and a pixie-style green shirt that was tied at the waist with a vibrant red belt. On his feet he had pointy slippers, complete with bells. He beamed at Jim from under a bright green felt hat, then all of a sudden left the line and ran to this father. "I know'd you would be on time," he said, engulfing Jim in a big hug.

Jim returned the embrace. "I wouldn't miss this for the world, Munchkin."

"Look! I gotted bells on my toes," Blair said proudly, lifting up his foot so his father could see his shoes. "Jessie made them."

Jim reached out to steady Blair before he landed flat on his backside. "You better get back to your friends, Chief. I think they're about to start."

Blair looked over at the other children. Nicole was arranging them in lines on a makeshift stage. "Kiss first," he demanded. As Jim bent down to comply, Blair whispered. "Don't fo'get the crayons, Daddy. Cody Johnson's brotheh sayed we are really bad singehs. He sayed we sucked."

Before Jim could answer, Blair let go and scooted back over to the stage. He jumped up, taking his spot in the line with the other children.

Jim shifted on the hard plastic chair and scanned the audience behind him, wondering which kid was Cody Johnson's brother, and where he could bury the body.

~oOo~

"Joel, Joel, come and look at my wo'k." Without waiting for an answer, Blair grabbed Joel and dragged him over to where Jessie was sitting, flipping through one of his workbooks. Simon smiled, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee. "Boy, this brings back memories," he said. "Cold coffee and stale cookies."

"Yep, doesn't get any better than this." Jim laughed, brushing crumbs off his jacket. "Thanks for coming, Simon. I didn't think you were gonna make it."

"Jim, I wouldn't have missed this for the world. I just told the chief that I had some pressing family business that I had to take care of. The man didn't really have a choice."

Lucas, who was standing next to Jim, nudged the older man's arm. "Look who else has turned up."

"You've gotta be kidding," Jim groaned.

"What?" Simon asked, turning his attention to the area Lucas indicated.

Sitting in the corner by the door were Bagheera and Rahma. Both pair of eyes were tracking children as they darted back and forth across the room.

"What?" Simon asked again.

"Old Macdonald's Farm has just arrived."

Still looking confused, Simon was about to question further, when Lucas interrupted him. "Hey, Jim, do you think that to a jaguar these kids kinda look like rabbits running across a field?"

"Easy prey, if you ask me," Jim joked, knowing full well that the animal spirits were just that – spirits.

Lucas shrugged his shoulders "Anybody want some more coffee?" When nobody answered him, he moved away to refill his own cup.

Simon grabbed the teenager by the sweater and dragged him back. "Have you lost your mind?" he hissed. "Apparently we have two wild, potentially lethal animals in a room full of kids and you ask if anyone wants coffee? Did you leave your brain at home, boy?" Banks said, cuffing Lucas across the top of the head. Turning to address his detective, Simon lowered his voice. "Jim, what the hell is going on?"

"Simon, settle down, they're just spirits ... visions. They're not exactly real, and they don't eat."

"How come you can touch them, then?" Lucas asked.

"What?" Jim replied.

"If they were just spirits, you wouldn't be able to touch them. When they visualise, they aren't cold, Jim. They're warm, flesh and blood. And if they are flesh and blood, it only stands to reason that they gotta eat." Lucas leaned closer. "Seems to me that that chunky kid over there stuffing his face with cake would make a pretty good meal." He slapped Jim on the shoulder. "Now, anybody need a refill?"

A look of irritation crossed Jim's face. He excused himself from Simon, who looked like he was about to have an aneurism, and made a beeline for the corner of the room. He inconspicuously pulled up a chair and sat down next to the jaguar. Making a concerted effort not to look at the spirits, he leaned back on the chair. "Okay, fur balls," he groused, very quietly and very calmly. "I'll say this once and once only. This is not a panther picnic. Under no circumstances are you to chase, maim or make a snack out of any of the children in this room. In fact, you would make me an extremely happy sentinel if you would just fade away, disappear ... 'devisualise', or whatever it is you do. You're officially off duty, so vamoose." He gave the cat a quick glance and swore he could see a hint of a smile drift across the feline's face.

With a glint in its eye, the cat nudged the pup before disappearing and Jim placed his head in his hands. "Why me?" he groaned.

On the other side of the room, Lucas plucked another cookie from the plate on the table, a gratified smile appearing on his face. "Excellent work, cat," he snickered. His plan had succeeded perfectly. Jim and Simon were so easy to get the better of sometimes.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Blair shouted, coming over to him with Holly and her very pregnant mother in tow. "Holly sayed that I can come over and play at her house one day. This is Holly's mom," he said, taking hold of the woman's hand. "I told you she was this big."

"Blair!" Jim exclaimed. He could feel his face starting to flush with embarrassment. He was about to reprimand his son, but Blair and his partner in crime had already taken off, leaving him to face the woman alone. "I'm really sorry about that," he began, unsure of what to say next.

Katherine Ransley smiled, rubbing her protruding stomach. "Don't worry about it. If anything, I'd say that Blair was very observant. I swear I have a baby hippopotamus in here, not a child."

Jim and Katherine made polite conversation for a few minutes before Holly was back, demanding that her mother come and look at her artwork on the Christmas tree. Jim wandered back over to Lucas, Simon and Joel, feeling frazzled and worn out. He had loved every minute of the concert, hanging on every word Blair had sung, but socialising with other parents, and especially their children, was not his strong point.

"Okay, guys, time to formulate a plan. How do we get the Christmas Elf outta here without causing a major disturbance?"

"Easy," Lucas replied, helping himself to another large slice of chocolate cake. "Just tell Tinkerbell we're going out for pizza." He smiled at Jim. "It works for me."

Jim patted Lucas on the back. "I knew if I kept you around you'd come in handy for something." He threw the truck keys to Lucas. "Go warm up the truck. I'll go snatch the Elf."

In less than half an hour they were all seated in a quiet corner of Mario's Italian restaurant. Adult conversation flowed, along with a few well-deserved, celebratory drinks. The only 'kid sound' to be heard was the constant chatter of a Christmas Elf with a pointy green hat and bells on his toes.

~oOo~

_'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house._

An air of excitement mingled with trepidation set the mood as Jim readied himself for the big day. Blair had been clinging to him since he'd been picked up from Jessie's, and Lucas had been quieter than normal as his thoughts lingered with his brother and the family he used to have.

"Hey, guys," Jim said, trying to break the mood. "Why don't we play a game? Chief, where did you put the memory cards?"

"They in my room."

The tone in Blair's voice told Jim that there was no way Blair was going to make that trip alone, so he hoisted him up onto his shoulders. "Okay, soldier. This mission is gonna be tough and it's gonna be rough. We need to infiltrate the room of the messiest three-year-old on the planet. You think you're up to the job?"

Blair held on tight as his father bounded up the stairs. "Daddy, my room not messy. I know where eve'ything be."

Jim reached Blair's room, ducking from side to side as he made his way past the mess on the floor. He threw Blair down onto the bed. "Okay son, we've got two minutes to find these cards and get outta here. I think the whole place is gonna blow."

Blair giggled, scrambling off the bed. He squeezed under the bed, triumphantly pulling out the game. "See, I told ya I know where eve'ything be."

Jim picked up Blair once again. "Good work soldier, but we need to evacuate. I fear this room is full of hazardous waste material."

Having absolutely no idea what his father was talking about, Blair held on tight. He pulled himself firmly against Jim's chest, a position that made him feel safe, a protected spot that blocked out everything else.

By the time Jim and Blair returned to the living room, Lucas was standing in the corner, his gaze transfixed on the Christmas tree. "Why don't you set up the cards?" Jim said quietly to Blair. He moved over to Lucas, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

For the first time, Lucas answered Jim's question without deflection. "I was trying so hard to be normal, you know."

"Lucas, no charades, remember?"

Lucas nodded. "I don't wanna to be alone tonight."

"Then you won't." Jim pulled Lucas close, giving his a brief, one-armed hug. "Hey, Chief, what do you say we have a campout in my room tonight? We can drag the mattress from the spare bed and put it on the floor for Lucas."

Blair looked up from what he was doing. Christmas was starting to get exciting. "Can we tell stories?"

"We sure can. But they have to be Christmas stories."

"Way cool," Blair smiled, going back to arranging the memory cards on the living room rug.

"Thanks, Jim," Lucas responded, quietly.

"Anytime you need me kid, the door's always open. You only have to ask."

Lucas stared at the floor. "I know."

"Come on, tough guy." Jim slapped Lucas on the back. "Let's go get ourselves slaughtered by the rug rat." Unfortunately for them both, Blair had turned out to be an expert at playing Memory. When Jim had first bought the game, he'd taken it easy, letting Blair get the better of him, but it soon became apparent that the youngster had a photographic memory. Blair had outwitted both him and Lucas nearly every time they played the game. One flip of the card and Blair instantly remembered where its match was located. There was no doubting his son was smart. Stephen's wife had even talked to him about putting Blair in school, advancing him beyond his age level, but he wasn't convinced. He figured that if he did have a 'gifted' child, then he would always be gifted. He considered Blair's social education just as important as academic advancement. Blair needed to experience the joy of being a child. He needed to discover the mystery of fantasy and make believe. In his three years on this earth, he'd already experienced all the horror this world had to offer; now Blair needed to discover the magic. He needed to find his own way without adult interference. Whatever else happened, he was going to make quite certain that Blair would never be pushed or moulded to fit into anyone's vision of the perfect child. Blair would grow to learn and love on his own terms.

Jim nudged Lucas, who was so focussed on finding the matching pair to his card, he'd neglected to notice that Blair had nodded off. "Bingo," Jim whispered, looking at his watch. "I thought he'd never zonk out." Gently, he eased Blair off the floor and into his arms.

"You going to bed?" Lucas asked.

"Yeah. I think it's time to hit the sack. Tomorrow will most likely be an early start."

"I'll lock up down here, then."

"Thanks, and don't forget to take your antibiotics. I can still hear some congestion in your lungs."

Padding smoothly up the stairs, Jim moved down the hall to his room. He flicked back the covers, adjusted the pillow and lay Blair down. Next he made his way to the spare room to get the mattress. He waited until he heard Lucas finishing up in the bathroom, and then met the teenager in the hall. "I've made up the mattress on the floor."

Lucas was about to protest, about to proclaim that he'd was just being foolish, but Christmas, for as long as he could remember had made him irrational – and wary. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Go, get some sleep. It'll be an early morning." Jim pushed Lucas toward his bedroom. "I'll be there shortly." He waited until he heard Lucas settle down. His job as Santa had just begun.

~oOo~

Jim woke with an annoying sensation plaguing him. Daylight had barely made an appearance and the clock on the bedside table told him it was after six-thirty. He shifted and removed the stuffed toy whose beak was stabbing into his back. He picked up Big Bird, staring at the goofy expression on its face. "Merry Christmas," he said before placing it next to his son. Blair twitched, but remained deep in sleep. Peering over the side of the mattress, he settled his gaze on Lucas. Covered head to toe in blankets, Lucas lay on his stomach. The only evidence that he was, in fact, in the room, was a mess of blond hair peeking out from beneath the cocoon. Jim turned his attention back toward Blair. "Well, this is no fun. Christmas morning and everyone's still asleep." He shifted his hand beneath the covers, his fingers gently lifting the youngster's pajama shirt. "Chief," he whispered, giving Blair's smooth stomach a light tickle. "It's Christmas."

Blair unconsciously batted his hand away, turning over, away from the disturbance. Feeling despondent by the lack of Christmas cheer, he tried again. He upped the ante, shaking Blair a little harder. "Chief, it's Christmas."

Blair's eyes opened, blinked once, before drifting shut again.

"Munchkin, Santa's been here." Jim said loudly. He was awake and excited, and it was about time for the rest of the family to share his enthusiasm.

Still not receiving a response, Jim moved to instigate plan B. He pulled back the covers and got out of bed, intent on making Lucas his next victim. "Hey, Lump," he said loudly. "It's Christmas." He swiftly pulled back the blankets exposing Lucas's bare torso.

Lucas's hand reached up, blindly seeking his lost warmth. His eyes remained firmly shut.

"Okay guys, enough is enough," Jim barked. He swatted Lucas's backside. "Up, Lump, now." Moving back to his bed he gave his son a gentler version of his wakeup call and smiled as a pair of blue eyes finally greeted him. "Guys, it's Christmas."

Once Blair finally comprehended what was going on, it didn't take long for him to spur into action. He made a beeline for the door, only to be stopped in his tracks by Jim's hand tugging on the back of his top. "Bathroom first, Shorty," Jim said, steering Blair toward the en-suite bathroom.

"I not need to go," Blair insisted.

"So you're just doing that little jig for entertainment value?" Jim commented as Blair moved from foot to foot. He directed him through the door. "The presents will still be there when you get out, Chief."

Taking care of business, Blair flushed the toilet and bolted back out through the door, only to be intercepted once again by his father. "Hands, Junior." Although Blair squirmed and complained, Jim hoisted him under his arm and marched back into the bathroom. With hands washed and dried, he set Blair down on the tiles. "Okay, Chief, you're free."

As soon as his feet hit the floor, Blair took off out of the room, bumping into Lucas who was pulling his sweatshirt over his head. "Whoa, slow down there, Short Stuff," Lucas said, moving to the side so Blair could get past. He laughed. "I think he might be excited."

Blair ran down the hall, coming to a sudden stop at the top of the stairs. He waited until Jim and Lucas caught up with him. "Do you think he's gone?" He didn't dare to go down the stairs until he was certain.

Jim bent down to Blair's eye level, sensing his son's nervousness. "Tell you what, Chief. Why don't we send Lucas down first to take a look around?"

Blair wound his hands around Jim's neck. "Okay." He looked up at Lucas. "You be careful, Lucas."

Jim stood, taking Blair with him. He clapped the teenager on the shoulder. "Okay, tough guy, you think you can handle this?"

"Yes sir," Lucas replied, snapping to attention.

"Just remember, any sign of a big man with a red suit and white beard, you hightail it back up here, real quick."

Endeavouring to keep a straight face, Lucas ducked down the stairs. He went straight to the living room. His eyes widened for a moment, impressed with the amount of presents under the tree. "Wow, your dad really does know how to spoil you, Sport," he said under his breath. Moving to the back of the tree, he flipped on the power switch and instantly, the room was aglow with twinkling lights. "All clear down here!" he yelled. Feeling a little like a third wheel, he busied himself with lighting the fire.

Jim gave Blair a squeeze. "You ready, Chief?"

"Ah-ha," Blair cautiously nodded.

Jim padded down the stairs with Blair in his arms. He could feel Blair's body tense as they neared the French doors leading to the living room. "Hey, it's okay," he comforted. "Today's only going to be filled with good things, remember?"

"I 'membeh," Blair replied, still a little unsure.

"Okay ... here we go." Jim entered the room and Blair's blue eyes became as wide as saucers. For the first time in six months, he was speechless.

"Merry Christmas, Chief." Jim placed Blair on the floor and gave him a nudge. "Well go on, get tearing. These presents won't open by themselves."

Finally finding his voice, Blair bounced with excitement. "How did he fit all these presents in his sack? It not that big." Blair moved closer to the Christmas tree. "Look, Lucas, this one has you name." He picked it up and took it over to the fireplace and excitedly shoved it into the teenager's hand. "Open it, open it," he said with a bounce. "I wonder what Santa bwinged you."

Lucas took the present, giving Jim a querying glance.

Jim smiled. "I guess he figured you must have been good this year." He moved to sit on the floor to get closer to the action. "Well, you gonna open it?"

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Lucas tentatively tore away the wrapping paper. "Look, a watch!" Blair squealed, before Lucas even had a chance to get all the paper off the box. "Lucas, Santa gaved you a watch. I wondeh what he bwinged you, Dad!" His movement back to the tree was halted by a large hand on the waistband of his pajama pants. "Why don't you see if you can find one with your name on it first, Munchkin."

Blair's whole face lit up. This was one of his father 'suggestions' he wasn't going to ignore.

With Blair busily digging through the presents, Lucas spoke quietly. "Jim, this is too much. You shouldn't have bought me this. It must have cost a fortune."

"Don't you like it? The saleslady said that all the cool teenagers are wearing this style."

"Of course I like it ... I love it, but –"

Jim held up his hand. "No buts. Besides, I have ulterior motives. This way you'll always be home on time, no excuses."

Still a little uncertain, Lucas reached around to the back of the tree. He pulled out a present and handed it to Jim. "It's not much," he said awkwardly. "I hope you like it."

Jim unwrapped the gift to discover a beautifully bound, leather photo album. He scanned through the pages. His treasured memories of the past six months had been lovingly captured. Some photos he recognised, others had obviously been taken by Lucas without his knowledge.

"I hope you don't mind, but I had to go through your photo collection."

"Kid, this is fantastic, thank you." Jim turned over a few more pages. "How come there's no photos of you in here?"

Lucas averted his eyes, changing the subject quickly. "Hey Sport, what you got there?"

"It new blocks." Blair dragged the heavy box over to Lucas. "It a pyramid. And look ... a camel." He tipped the whole contents on the floor. "I go see what else Santa bwinged."

Jim placed the photo album on the coffee table. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that this morning was going to be messy. "I think I need coffee."

Lucas jumped to his feet before Jim could protest. "I'll put it on. You stay here and watch Blair."

Jim yelled after the retreating teenager. "Don't be long, and grab the camera, will you?" It was time to correct the incomplete photo album.

By the time Lucas returned, Blair was arranging all the presents into piles. "There is a present for Joel and a present for Jessie." He crawled under the tree, dragging out two more presents. "And one for Uncle Simon and one for Dawyl." He looked over at Lucas. "Look at you big pile, Lucas."

"Jim?" Lucas inquired.

"Hey, don't look at me. It was Santa. Guess he figured you must have been 'really' good this year." He snatched his coffee from Lucas's grasp. "Now you two, time to get cracking. At this rate, you'll still be opening presents come nightfall."

Blair immediately scurried into action. He picked up a big present and placed it in front of Lucas. "Mine is the same shape as yours." He tore away the wrapping paper. "What is it?"

Lucas tore the wrapping paper from his present. "They're sleeping bags, Sport."

"What they fo'?"

Jim picked up a present that Blair had missed. "They're to go with this." Both Lucas and Blair made quick work of the paper to reveal a three-man tent.

Blair was standing, still looking confused.

"I think this means we're going camping, Sport." Lucas was now grinning widely.

Jim quickly ducked to the hall cupboard. "And no camping trip would be complete without these."

"Fishing rods!" Blair squealed. He took hold of the smallest of the three rods. "We going fishing, Lucas." He bounced with excitement. "Daddies and they little boys always go fishing." He looked up at his father. "It sayed so in my book, Dad. Remembeh?"

Jim ruffled Blair's wild curls. "I remember perfectly, Chief."

As the morning progressed, more unwrapping revealed more books and toys for Blair, each one causing the child to laugh and squeal with delight. Lucas ended up with new clothes, which included a warm jacket and a pair of sturdy hiking boots.

Jim sat back on the sofa content with some beautiful handmade presents from Blair, as well as two new mystery novels, which Lucas had helped Blair purchase. The camera worked overtime as he snapped photos of both the boys. _This is what Christmas is meant to be about,_ he thought in total and complete satisfaction. _Family_.

~oOo~


	9. Chapter 9

~oOo~

"Daddy, Daddy, they here, they here!" Blair ran to the front door and flung it open. "Jessie, Joel, Santa camed and he left presents!" His slippers crunched on the snow-covered path. "He left presents for you at our house."

Joel picked Blair up before his slippers became any more soaked than they already were. "And do you know what?" Joel said, opening the trunk. "He also came to our house and left some presents for you there."

"Way cool," Blair answered, bouncing in Joel's arms. "I 'cided I really like Santa!"

Jessie laughed. "Merry Christmas, honey."

Blair leaned over and wrapped his arms around Jessie's neck and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Merry Chwistmas, Jessie."

Jim immediately set Lucas to work unloading Joel's car. They were now only waiting for Simon and Daryl to arrive, so celebrations could get under way. He had hoped that maybe Steven and his family could have made it as well, but Rachael's mother had made it perfectly clear that she was not going to spend Christmas without her grandchildren. Still, most of his family was there; adopted or not, they were still family.

~oOo~

"Hey, Simon, Daryl. Merry Christmas," Jim said, shaking Simon's hand. He spied the new Play Station Daryl held in his arms. "I see Santa was good to you."

"Yeah, real good. Can I go set it up?"

"Be my guest," Jim laughed. He took Simon's coat. "Did you get it?"

Simon pulled a parcel from a bag of presents he was holding. "Sure did. Good as new. I had the guys in the lab make a copy, just in case you have another run-in with a box of crayons."

Jim took the photo and studied it carefully. Simon had given it to the guys in forensics to see if they could repair the damage Blair had done. "It looks as good as new."

"It's better than new. They even retouched the colour."

"This was the only thing he had left of his brother." Jim said. "You should have seen his face when Blair scribbled on it. He was devastated." Jim looked back at his Captain. "But you know what, he never once took it out on Blair. He just shrugged it off." Jim glanced back down at the photo. "I've got a frame in my room." He moved toward the stairs. "Everyone's in the kitchen. Hey, can you get Blair for me? I think he should give this to Lucas. And, Simon, thanks."

~oOo~

Blair took Lucas by the hand and led him into the living room. "What you got there, Sport?" Lucas asked, noticing the package hidden behind Blair's back.

Once Lucas was seated, Blair moved to stand between his legs. "It fo' you, Lucas. It vewy, vewy special." He handed over the gift, a look of concern covering his face.

Lucas accepted the parcel and undid the bow. "I guess it must be," he answered not missing the look on Blair's face. He made short work of the wrapping, but his fingers trembled when he realised what he was holding. "I don't understand, Blair. How did you?"

"I very sorry I broked it," Blair blurted. He lifted his hand and wiped away the tears that were filling his eyes. "Daddy sayed he got it fixed just like new. You can see the boy now. The cwayon all gone." Blair started to tremble. "Do you still love me?"

"Oh God, Blair." Lucas was having trouble holding back tears of his own. He wrapped Blair in his arms and lifted him up so he was straddling his lap. "Of course I still love you. We made a promise, remember?"

Blair wrapped his arms around Lucas's body and sobbed into the teenager's chest. Lucas buried his face in Blair's curls, his own tears flowing freely. "You're the only one I have left. I don't have anyone else who loves me, Short Stuff."

Jim moved from the door where he had been watching and sat down on the sofa. He placed his arm around Lucas's shoulder. "You okay?"

Lucas took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." his tear-filled eyes met Jim's. "It's just so hard sometimes. Times like this, it's just so hard."

"You're wrong, you know," Jim said, drawing Lucas in. Without apprehension, he placed a light kiss, on the side of Lucas's head. "Blair's not the only one you have left. I love you, kiddo. We both love you."

They sat in silence, Jim giving Lucas time to compose himself and Lucas, for the first time, not ashamed to fully accept the comfort Jim was offering.

"C'mon," Jim said. "Today is about good things, remember? Why don't we go see what's cookin?"

Lucas swiped at his eyes. "You're right, only good things." He stood, with Blair still in his arms. "Jim, I, what you just said ...well, I want you to know that ... well .,, I just want you to know."

Jim left his arm around Lucas's shoulders and led him through the door. "I know you do."

"And me, too," Blair said quietly.

"Always Sport, always," Lucas replied

~oOo~

"I think it's about time we broke out the champagne and really got this celebration under way!" Jim bellowed. "Simon, the glasses are in the cupboard to your left."

"Can I have some, Dad?" Daryl asked from his position at the kitchen sink. Jessie had put him to work peeling potatoes. "Mom let me have a glass at Aunt Kate's wedding."

Simon smiled at his fourteen-year-old son. Every time he turned around, Daryl seemed to get that little bit closer to manhood. He'd sprouted at least two inches in the past month and he swore he could see a tiny patch of peach fluff on the boy's upper lip.

"Can I have 'pagne too, Daddy?" Blair asked. He was standing on the kitchen stool with his arms still flung around Lucas's neck.

"How about a nice glass of apple champagne for you, Junior," Jim said as he began to fill the glasses that Simon had lined up on the counter. "Simon?" he inquired, before filling a glass for Daryl.

"Half a glass," Simon replied.

"Half a glass! Dad, come, on I'm not a baby. At least make it three quarters."

Simon took his son by the shoulders. "You're still my baby." He pulled Daryl into an embrace, and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

"Dad," Daryl exclaimed, totally mortified that his father had kissed him in public. "There are people around," he hissed.

His son's words didn't wipe the smile from Simon's face. If anything, his grin grew wider as Daryl, despite his complaining, wound his arm around his waist.

With glasses filled to the brim, Jim passed a glass to Lucas.

"You serious?" Lucas asked. "I thought 'no alcohol' was one of your rules? One of your many, many, many rules," he added.

"I figure that you're old enough to have a drink with me once in a while. And besides, what fun are rules if you can't break them occasionally?" He saw a glint in Lucas's eye and quickly clarified his statement. "When I say occasionally, I mean occasionally and only with my complete knowledge and permission."

Lucas just shook his head. "God, at this stage I'll be fifty before I get another..." His last word was muffled as he took a sip of champagne.

Jim raised his glass. "To family." He reached over and squeezed the back of Lucas's neck. "As trying as they might be sometimes, you couldn't live without them." He leaned over and whispered into Lucas ear. "And with comments like that, you just might be locked in your room until you're fifty."

Lucas's eyes widened. "You heard that?" He took in the expression of Jim's face. "Of course you did, didn't you?" he groaned.

Jim slapped Lucas on the back. "Oh yeah."

Blair, who was now sitting on the chair, concentrating very hard on not spilling his apple champagne, spoke up. "I hearded it, too. What does 'lay' mean, Lucas?"

Lucas covered Blair's mouth instantly with his hand, his face flushing with embarrassment. He dared a quick glance at Jim. "It means that I'm in big trouble, Sport." Jim's expression remained unchanged. "Big, big trouble."

"Oh yeah," Jim confirmed.

Jessie, who had managed very well to maintain her composure, clapped her hands. "Why don't you boys go and find something to do in the living room?" She took the potato peeler from Daryl's hand. "Go, have some fun."

Daryl didn't need to be told twice. In less than a minute, he'd made a hasty exit from the room, with Blair hot on his heels.

"I guess I should ... I mean maybe I should ... I should go check on Blair," Lucas stuttered, backing out of the room.

"Might be a wise decision," Jim replied, straight-faced.

With all three boys out of earshot, Jessie could no longer contain herself. She lifted her hand to her mouth in a futile effort to smother her chuckling. Her actions caused a domino effect, and soon, not a dry eye was to be found as tears of laughter, along with more champagne, flowed in the kitchen.

~oOo~

Jim took his place at one end of the table. Blair was seated on a booster seat on the chair to the right of him, and Lucas was on the next chair down. The table was laden with a decadent amount of Christmas fare. and Jim's memories flashed back to his childhood. A table similar to this one had always been laid out for Christmas. Enormous amounts of turkey and ham, steaming bowls of mashed potatoes and butter beans, pumpkin pie and brandy-filled puddings always graced the Ellison table. And so, unfortunately did the strong hand of his father. He looked around his table, and at _his_ family. Smiles and laughter and competition for the jokes and toys inside of the Christmas crackers that Jessie had hand-made, in an effort to bring something a little different to the traditional table setting, was all he could see. All he could sense.

Simon sat at the other end of the table, batting away his son's hands as Daryl tried in vain to place a paper hat from one of the crackers on his head. Relenting under the youth's persistence, Simon let the paper crown rest askew over one eye. Daryl burst into a fit of laughter and wrapped his arms around his father. "You look like a dork, Dad," he chuckled.

With glasses filled to the brim, Jim took a moment to say a few words. "I'm not very good at speeches, so I'll make this short."

"Amen to that," Simon interrupted.

"If King Arthur at the end of the table would care to keep his royal trap shut, maybe I can get started," Ellison retaliated. "Firstly, to Jessie and Joel. I can't even begin to thank you both for everything you have done for this family. We are richer for your love and support."

"And we, yours," Jessie added quietly.

"To his royal highness over there," Jim continued, nodding to Simon. "Despite being my boss, you are my best friend and it's a friendship I'll always value." He smiled, "Of course, I'd value it a little more if I got a pay-raise."

"Dream on, Ellison," Simon retorted.

Lastly Jim looked over at his boys. "It's without a doubt that this year has been full of highs and lows. Six months ago, I would never have seen myself as a father, but here I am, six months later, and am lucky to have, not just one, but two amazing kids to share my life." He took hold of Blair's hand. "Munchkin, you bring nothing but absolute joy to every single day of my life." He looked over at the other boy who he'd begun to think of as a son. "And Lucas, you've made me realise what true strength of character really is."

Lucas ducked his head. Although Jim didn't regret his words, it wasn't in his plan to make Lucas feel uncomfortable; he picked up his napkin and tossed it straight at Lucas's head. "Despite his obvious lack of training, which you all witnessed earlier," he said, with a broad smile on his face.

Lucas picked up the napkin and tossed it back, also smiling broadly. "You still throw like a girl," he said.

"Amen to that," Simon boomed. "Now, start cutting that bird, Ellison, before I faint with hunger."

Jim picked up his glass. "To family," he toasted.

The fire that crackled in the background could not begin to compare with the warmth that radiated from the table as three families came together as one to celebrate life, love and Christmas.

~oOo~


	10. Chapter 10

Prologue to The Test

(Part 7 in the series)

In the jungles of Peru, a lone warrior fought for his sentinel, his composed voice breaking with anger as he addressed a circle of his peers. "I will not allow this to happen. The Guide is too young."

"That is why he has been given a guardian, Incacha. Do you not have faith in the ability of the Guardian?"

Incacha whirled in anger, addressing the speaker. "The Guardian is but a boy himself. He is not ready."

The speaker approached the centre of the circle. "If the Guardian is not ready, then perhaps it is time for him to be removed."

A black jaguar, which had been prowling restlessly around the outside of the circle, let its disapproval be known, its voice joined by that of a young cougar.

"Enough!" ordered the speaker, his command silencing the animal spirits. "A decision has been made. The test will take place. If the Guardian is strong, then he will succeed." The speaker turned to Incacha. "If he does not, then the Guide will be removed."

One by one, without any further discussion, the council of peers disappeared into the night. A lone Chopec warrior stood by the fire, the jaguar beside him in unwavering support. The shadows flickered upon his defiant face. His heart could not allow this to happen. _"I cannot do this alone, Enqueri. You must find your strength. You must embrace your gift. The life of your guardian depends on it... as does the life of your son."_

Without taking his eyes from the flame, Incacha spoke. "The Guide must be protected at all cost."

A silent agreement was reached. When the time was right, Incacha and the jaguar would stand side by side. Together, they would take on the power of the council.

_TBC_


End file.
